


Nightmares are Dreams too

by bandito06



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Armageddon, Car Accidents, F/M, First Dates, Florist Crowley (Good Omens), God Ships Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Human Crowley (Good Omens), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Love at First Sight, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Anathema Device (Good Omens), POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Crowley (Good Omens), Pov Newt Pulsifer, Scene: The Bookshop Fire (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26500729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bandito06/pseuds/bandito06
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale fell in love and started a relationship. Heaven and Hell disapproved so the two were killed. God took pity on them and gave them new life as humans on Earth.Anthony J Crowley is a florist who has always felt like he is missing something. Like a part of his soul is missing. He has his quirky best friend and his flower shop. What more can he need? He starts to realize just what he's missing when he runs into a blond who captures his heart within the first minute of their meeting.Aziraphale Fell has never fit in with his family. They want him to be strictly religious and preferablynotgay. He decides to stick with his books where the only time he gets hurt is from one falling on him. When Aziraphale meets Anthony Crowley, he feels an immediate connection with the man. Will the angel and demon be reunited and help stop the end of the world or will the Ineffable plan fail again?
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Anathema Device, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Anathema Device, Newton Pulsifer & Seargent Shadwell
Comments: 28
Kudos: 31





	1. Meeting You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale meet.

“Long ago God created her many creations with love. They were made to love each other and the other creations they lived amongst. When Lucifer fell and took some of God’s creations with him, it created a great disturbance. With this disturbance, the Ineffable Plan was created by God herself. No one knew of this plan except for God.

“The Ineffable Plan told of lost lovers that would come together to stop the End,” reads Aziraphale Fell. He frowns. From what he was taught about the Almighty, he would have never thought God would be the one to plan about two lovers. Especially since, according to others, She disapproves of gay love(which, of course, She doesn't but no one seems to realize that). “One was an angel who loved without thought. This angel loved so much that he fell for one of the Fallen. He fell in every way possible for the demon who had been a friend to the angel for a long time.

“The angel, though, feared retribution from Heaven and Hell so the celestial being kept his affections secret. The angel feared for the demon he loved. The being feared harm would come to them if so much as a whisper was spoken about their love. The other, a demon who did not fall so much as vaguely sauntered downwards, did not think a being such as a demon could love so they hid their feelings from everyone. They hurt themself in order to keep their love hidden. What the two did not realize, though, is that love isn’t something that can be contained. They found that out the hard way as they fell more in love with the other. They would meet in secret as often as they could without raising suspicion.

“When the forces of Heaven and Hell found out about the relationship, they killed the two without mercy. The angel died begging for mercy for the demon while slowly being burned in hellfire. The demon cried out for the angel as holy water took their life. God took pity on the two, as they were Her favorites of all Her creations, and gave them new life as humans. They wander the Earth in search of each other and their love they lost. God’s plan is for them to one day meet and learn the truth and stop the Earth from being destroyed by the forces of Heaven and Hell and one day regain their lost love.” Aziraphale frowns at the book. He had known that the book told of things that went against religion and belief but to tell of a demon and an angel falling in love was absolutely scandalous! It's almost refreshing, though, to read a tale of such courageous love. A tale of defying what others think just so you can be with the person you love.

A small part of the blond can’t help but admire the courage of the demon and angel, to love when they were told not too. It fuels his fantasy of a dark prince sweeping him off his feet and loving him. Aziraphale wishes for love with a strong yearning that leaves him wishing for someone. It doesn’t help that every time he gets close to someone he can’t help but compare them to someone he’s never met. It’s as if he is supposed to meet this one person and, until then, nobody will capture his restless heart.

Aziraphale sighs and dreams of a day when a man comes and loves him. He always dreams of a man with a smile that lights up the room and a love that knows no boundaries. He dreams of a man who will hold him close at night and kiss him good morning and goodnight and will send Aziraphale silly texts or simple things that reminded them of him. He dreams of beautiful and fearless love. Not that he, Aziraphale, the family fuck up, deserves that kind of love but even the lowest of low can hope. And boy does Aziraphale hope. He hopes with all his heart that someone would actually love him without there being strings attached. Without having to change himself for them.

“I should go for a walk,” Aziraphale tells himself, knowing that he should do something to stop his thoughts before they really get going. Before they cut too deep and leave marks. Tracing the same grooves long carved into his mind. “Maybe walking will get rid of some of this terrible fat.” He frowns at the way his stomach sticks out more than he would like in his pale blue shirt. _Nobody would love someone like you_ , a cold voice in the back of his head sneers. A voice that’s so familiar yet so strange. Aziraphale sighs and grabs a jacket before leaving his lovely bookshop—his safe haven—behind. It’s cool outside but Aziraphale shivers from the cold that fills his bones, a cold that stems from the darkest part of your mind. He longs for something to keep him warm. A place where he can finally feel at home.

He will just have to make do with his books and himself.

* * *

Anthony J Crowley should be smiling. His life is good. His business is making a steady profit and he has a day off in what’s likely been months. Anathema, his employee and best friend, had insisted. Instead, the redhead can’t help but feel as if something is missing. It could be the fact that he forgot a jacket and is now freezing his ass off but he knows it’s deeper than the chill of the air. It’s more like a soft pang in his heart that screams of something missing.

Of someone missing.

Crowley shakes his head and continues walking. He’s just being weird. He has everything he needs, a house, a job, a friend. He could be out on the street with nothing to his name and nowhere to go. Nothing is missing.

Except something is.

Crowley spots a small café a little ways ahead. Might as well stop before he freezes to death. He steps up to the door when a blond man comes bustling up, worrying at his plump, pink lips.

“My apologies!” the blond says as he accidentally bumps into Crowley. The blond's beautiful blue eyes sparkle with worry as he looks up at Crowley.

“'s alright,” he replies gruffly, not quite understanding how to work his mouth anymore. The blond smiles at him, looking quite similar to an angel. He holds the door for the man, not quite ready to part ways with this stranger(he’s also unsure of how to move his legs normally—well, normal for _Crowley_ ).

“Thank you, dear,” the man says softly. Crowley practically swoons at the smile the blond sends his way. This man is either an angel or he’s delirious. Or both.

“Yep.” The smell of coffee and pastries assaults Crowley’s nose. The soft chatter of the customers makes the place feel slightly homely and erases some of the restlessness building up inside the redhead. Crowley lets the angel order first. The man bounces slightly as he peers at the assortment of pastries. It surprises Crowley when he only orders tea. The angel seems like the kind of person who would order something like crepes.

Crowley orders his coffee absentmindedly, glancing at the menu. “I-could I get crepes too?” he asks, making a decision that will likely end badly for him. But what’s Anathema always saying, you have to take risks. This is definitely a risk. A risk that, if he told Anathema, she would freak out. 

Something draws him to the blond. It’s like there’s an invisible string that links them together. Something that seems worth the risk.

“Of course,” the waitress says with a flirty smile, her dark eyes twinkling. “If you need some company, let me know.” She winks and turns away. Crowley grunts in response, only half paying attention. He watches the blond settle into a corner seat with a book. He almost lets out a laugh at the sight. The beautiful angel doing something as mundane as reading a book. It seems very fitting of him, though.

“Here you go!” a different woman says. She smiles and slides a sheet of paper alongside the coffee and crepe. “My friend said to give you this. She also said to call her whenever.”

“Thanks.” Crowley scoops up his items, shoving the paper in his pocket, making a mental reminder to throw it away when he gets a chance, and makes his way to where the blond sits. “Mind if I sit?” The angel looks up, startled before relaxing into a friendly smile.

“No, of course not!” he says, setting aside his book. He smiles up at Crowley, a question in his eyes. Crowley sets the crepes in between them, almost like a peace offering.

“You can have some if you want,” he offers, gesturing to the plate. Delight lights up those beautiful eyes before something else dulls the light. It makes Crowley’s mouth curl into a frown and his fists clench. Whoever did this to the angel in front of him should go to Hell(and he does. He goes to Hell every chance he gets to meet up with his secret demon lover. It’s really quite hypocritical but it’s not wise to argue with an Archangel).

“Oh, are you sure?” the blond asks, eyebrows knitting together. He twists the golden ring on his pinky finger.

“Yep,” Crowley responds, popping the ‘p’. “I’m Anthony J. Crowley but most people call me Crowley. And, before you ask, no, the J doesn't stand for anything.” The angel finishes chewing his bite of the crepe, smiling at Crowley in amusement.

“I’m Aziraphale Fell. A pleasure to meet you, Crowley. And, thank you for clarifying about the J. I was indeed going to ask.” Something tingles in the back of Crowley’s brain, reminding him of something he can’t quite remember. He ignores the feeling.

“Aziraphale, like the angel?” he responds, cocking an eyebrow. He knows the eyebrow will be just visible over his sunglasses but he’s not sure he’s ready to scare off the angel with his eyes. Aziraphale blushes.

“Indeed. Although I’m not very angelic—in looks or personality, I’m afraid.” Crowley narrows his eyes. Who told this man that he wasn’t angelic like?

“I believe quite the opposite, actually. You look quite like an angel, I'm surprised you don’t have people crowding your table, hoping for a chance to talk to the angel,” Crowley responds. Aziraphale is quiet for a moment, searching Crowley’s face for something. The redhead is tempted to take off his sunglasses, knowing they will show the truth. Something tells him Aziraphale won’t care. Aziraphale won’t care that he has snake eyes the color of gold instead of normal eyes.

Crowley is about to reach up when the blond speaks again, the two words laced with a small dose of disbelief.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale responds quietly, a small smile playing at his lips. The blond lifts one eyebrow and smirks. “I suppose if I'm an angel then you must be a wily demon. Who have you decided to tempt today?” Crowley smirks and leans close, getting a small whiff of sandalwood and paper. It shouldn't smell as good as it does.

“Oh, it wouldn’t be any fun if I told you,” he murmurs. “But I’ll give you a hint, he’s the most gorgeous guy in the room.” Aziraphale leans closer, his blue eyes twinkling.

“But, my dear, you can’t tempt yourself,” he says, smiling slyly.

 _This man is amazing_ , Crowley thinks to himself, laughing. His heart beats in his chest like a drum, pounding out a message that Crowley is terrified to try and read.

“This has been fun but I regret to say that I must get back to my bookshop. Will I get to see you again?” Aziraphale asks, gathering his items, a hopeful look in his eyes. Crowley feels a tightening in his chest at the thought of the angel leaving.

“Of course. Can’t have the wily demon running amuck, can you?” he teases, and Aziraphale laughs. Oh, that is a sound Crowley would do anything to hear again. It’s so pure and beautiful. He grabs a napkin and scribbles his number on it. “Here’s my cell phone number, call me?"

“Thank you, dear. Talk soon!” Aziraphale leaves with a wave and a soft smile. It takes everything in Crowley’s power not to race after him. He settles into his seat, chewing on a bite of crepes. A whisper of a memory drifts through his mind, an image of himself sitting across from Aziraphale eating crepes. It’s not true, he knows that, but a small part of him wants it to happen, to see Aziraphale with the beautiful smile on his face like in the mental picture. The blond looks truly happy as he gazes at Crowley.

With a groan, Anthony J Crowley gets up and ends his day off work before it could truly begin.

* * *

Anathema Device, a professional descendant as well as part-time florist and full time best friend to an idiot, has to fight the urge to hit her boss with the bouquet of flowers she is holding as he saunters through the door. The only reason she doesn’t is the fact that it took her hours to get this order right and she’s not going to waste it on her boss’s stupidity and sheer stubbornness.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she asks, glaring at him. “It’s your day off, remember? Or are you too cool for days off?” Crowley smirks at her, his sunglasses hiding his eyes. As far as Anathema knows, nobody knows what Crowley’s eyes look like. She has a theory that he was born with sunglasses on. One of the kids in Tadfield, Adam, suggested that maybe he doesn’t have eyes.

“Nah, I just decided I didn’t need a day off,” Crowley responds, picking up an order form. The dark-haired woman snatches it from him, frown deepening.

“As your self-appointed best friend, I call bullshit. You need a day off work but you’re just too stubborn to admit it. When will you realize that it’s not the end of the world to leave for a day?” A small shiver runs through Anathema as she mentions the end of the world. She knows it will happen soon—in just a couple of days really—she just isn’t prepared for all of this to be destroyed. Unless the angel and demon Agnes mentioned can get their shit together.

“I know, I just-” Crowley shuts his mouth, looking tired and frustrated. “I didn’t know what to do with myself. I love having free time and stuff but I didn’t know what to do without being here, ya know?” Anathema knows what he means all too well.

With a sigh, she hands him the order form. “Maybe get yourself a man,” she advises. “Then you can hang out with him instead of bothering me.” There is no heat to her words. Despite all her grumbling, Anathema loves Crowley in a way she would love a brother if she had one.

“Then who would listen to your insane rants about horoscopes and witchcraft?” Crowley grins, pulling his red hair back into a low pony. “Maybe you need to get yourself a man.” Anathema scowls but says nothing more as she thinks of the man who will come in just a few days. She hopes the Apocalypse doesn’t happen so she can try falling in love. She’s never been in love before and it seems nice under the right circumstances. Maybe this one will be the one who doesn’t mind her oddities.

Maybe this one will be the one.

* * *

Newton— _just Newt, please_ — Pulsifer, newest, and the only addition to the Witchfinder army. Proud as can be to finally be doing something, even if “something” involves an old man and lots of newspapers. Oh, and that odd lady across the hall who Newt is pretty sure is in love with Sergeant Shadwell. He would like to say that Shadwell loves her back, but the idea of Shadwell loving anybody is a strange concept that Newt can’t quite wrap his head around.

Newt jumps as the door opens and then slams shut. Shadwell stumbles down the stairs, cursing the whole time. Newt watches as the Sergeant steadies himself on the railing. He would offer help but he’s slightly afraid of getting whacked by the bundle of newspapers the man is holding. Or worse, having to carry the bundle of newspapers. Newt is quite sure that Shadwell is considerably strong with how much paper he carries around.

“Aye, lad, read about any witchcraft?” Shadwell asks, setting down his load. The papers thump loudly against the old table. With a cough, the old witchfinder sets the kettle on the stove for tea.

“No, none,” Newt replies, staring at the new stack of newspapers. They just keep coming. The number of newspapers Shadwell finds might be considered witchcraft in itself. It’s only been a day but Newt is certain that if he has to read one more paper, his brain will burst. Or his eyes will fall out. Or something else equally gruesome and terrible.  
Newt really needs to stop staying up late and watching scary videos.

“Well keep going, lad. Mustn't let any witch slip through yer fingers!” Shadwell coughs again before mumbling to himself while rummaging through his small fridge. With a grunt of triumph, the old man brandishes a tin of condensed milk. With a sigh, Newt turns back to his work.

He spots an advertisement for a flower shop, Eve’s Flowers, and decides to stop by one day and pick up flowers for his mum. Then, maybe she wouldn’t freak out as much over his new job—if one could even consider it a job. She would laugh. _Newton, follow your dreams_ , she would say. _Don’t stay stuck in a place you don’t want to stay._.

Newt angrily brushes away a tear forming in the corner of his eye. Army men don’t cry over silly things. _Follow your dreams, Newton._ How can you follow your dreams when it seems like every dream just turns into a nightmare?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first longer fic so I may be a little late on updates. I have no schedule currently but one may arise as the story progresses.
> 
> Thank you for reading! ❤️


	2. Finding Thy Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale calls Crowley and they set up a date while Anathema does some meddling.

Aziraphale sorts through his books absentmindedly. There are no rhyme or reason to the arangement, partly due to his dislike of people buying his books and partly because of his drifting thoughts. He keeps thinking about the mysterious Anthony J. Crowley he had met earlier at the café. There's something about the man that calls to him, like a siren to a sailor. A gentle song that tears your defenses down and holds you captive until you're nothing left but a prisoner to the feelings they invoke inside of you.

 _Is it too soon to call?_ Aziraphale wonders, glancing at his phone and then the clock. It's only 12:30. He glances at the phone again. The old phone seems to challenge him with it's dull buttons looking more like many eyes, daring him to be brave. With a resigned sigh, the blond crosses the bookshop to the phone. He hesitates before picking up the phone and putting it to his ear. Heart pounding in his chest, Aziraphale dials the number Crowley gave him. He wonders if he was given a fake number when nothing happens at first. Then there are three rings before Crowley answers with a “Hullo?” His voice is just as warm and beautiful as it was earlier. It makes something inside of Aziraphale go all warm and fuzzy in a comforting way.

 _Stop it!_ he tells himself. _At least act as though you can control yourself._

“Crowley, it’s me, um, Aziraphale. From the café,” the blond says, desperately wishing he didn’t make a huge mistake by calling. Who was he to think that Crowley would want to talk to him again? Just because he said he did doesn’t mean he does! _Be brave, Aziraphale_ he tells himself as he continues to hold the phone instead of putting it down like he wants to do.

“The angel calling to check up on the demon, eh? Making sure I'm not out tempting some poor unsuspecting soul?” Crowley responds with a laugh. Aziraphale laughs with him, a pressure being released from his chest. He’s relieved at the warmth he hears in Crowley’s voice. “I’m glad you called. Wasn’t sure you were going too.” A hesitancy fills the other man's voice as he laughs again, but this laugh isn't as full and beautiful; it's quieter and unsure.

“Of course I was going too, dear boy!” Aziraphale freezes. He calls everyone dear so it shouldn’t be weird referring to Crowley as such but it is. “You've intrigued me, my dear. And, as mentioned, I must check up on the wily demon. Can't have you running loose and tempting the poor people of London!" Crowley laughs again, his laugh back to its normal happiness and joy. "Anyways, how was your day?” _Great job, Aziraphale. A normal conversation. You aren't epically failing. Keep doing this and you'll be fine. Show that you aren't completely worthless at this._

“So boring and it's not even over yet. My employee—a right nutcase she is—decided to take it upon herself to assign me days off. She says, and I quote, ‘you need to get some fucking rest, loser’. I skipped my day off because I don't need days off—think their stupid and a waste of time. Apparently next time she's going to curse me and, if that doesn't work, beat me over the head with a broomstick.” Aziraphale laughs.

“Sounds like quite an employee you have there.”

“Yeah, but I love her. She’s like a sister to me, ya know?” Aziraphale doesn’t know but he hums a yes anyways. He wishes he was close to someone in that way. “She keeps me on top of things. If I didn’t have her, my life would be a big mess—well, a bigger mess!” Crowley laughs, this time a self-deprecating one that makes Aziraphale want to reach through the phone and hug him.

“Makes sense. I need someone like that in my life. Otherwise, I'll just spend my life reading and drinking cocoa! Maybe I should go and steal your employee from you,” Aziraphale teases.

“You can have her. She's a handful and requires feeding three times a day with coffee in the morning and you have to listen to her weird-ass rants about the most random stuff. Also, she claims to be a witch so watch out for her threats of curses." Aziraphale hums in sympathy. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to blabber. Do that when I’m nervous. Bad habit.” Aziraphale chews on his lip, thinking and wondering.

“Why are you nervous?” The words are out before he can stop them. He claps a hand to his mouth as if that can draw them back. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be nosey. You don't have to answer. I don't mean to make you uncomfortable.” Crowley pauses and Aziraphale is worried he messed up.

“I guess it’s just because you seem really cool and stuff and I’d like to get to know you better. I don’t really want to mess it up before it begins. Or if there's anything to begin. Or even if you want to get to know me better-" Crowley sighs and lets out a small groan of frustration. "There I go again. Just, ignore me." Aziraphale beams at the empty bookshop as Crowley's words sink in. 

“I do want to get to know you better,” Aziraphale says, twirling the phone cord around his finger like a high schooler talking to their crush. _He thinks I’m cool!_ "And, I like listening to you talk. Even if it's just about your day. You have a beautiful voice, my dear. Oh wait, was that too weird?"

“Oh, good. And, no, it wasn't weird. It was...nice.” Crowley laughs again. “I don’t know where to go from here.” Aziraphale doesn't know where to go either. Well, he does but he isn't sure how to reach that goal. Or, even how far that goal goes.

“Um, well, I think what happens is you ask me to meet you for lunch or coffee or dinner or something like that and I would respond with, ‘I would love to, Crowley’ and then we set up a time and place to meet.” Aziraphale blushes as he realizes how forward he sounds. "If you want to, of course!"

“I do want to." Crowley clears his throat and the blond imagines a grin playing at his thin lips as he opens his mouth to speak. "So, Aziraphale, would you be ever so kind to accompany me on my quest for dinner tonight at 6? I would be ever so pleased if you would agree.”

“I would love nothing more then to accompany you on your 'quest for dinner', Crowley.” Aziraphale grins, holding back a chuckle at the other man's posh sounding words and the odd way he spoke to sound more formal. Crowley sounds different without his adorable Scottish accent.

“Okay, cool. Great. Wow, you actually said yes. I’ll pick you up at 5:45? That work for you?”

“Yes, that works just fine for me, dear. I’ll be at my bookshop.” Aziraphale pauses so that Crowley can get something to write on before rattling off the address of the bookshop. “I’ll see you then?”

“See you then, angel.” The phone line goes dead. Aziraphale freezes, still thinking about what Crowley just said. See you then, angel.  
_He called me angel!_ the blond thinks giddily. 

* * *

_Shit. Shit. Shit._ Crowley groans. _I can’t believe I called him angel!_ He wonders what Aziraphale is thinking, if he's weirded out by Crowley's nickname or if he likes it. He really hopes the blond doesn't mind the nickname because Crowley is certain there will be more slipups. Especially since Aziraphale looks like an angel and his bloody name is an angel's name.

“Crowley?” Anathema calls. She pokes her head into the backroom, untying her dark green apron from around her waist. Her long, blue dress swirls around her feet as she walks towards the redhead. She spots the look on his face and frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“I called him angel!” Crowley growls, running a hand through his red hair. He frowns as his fingers hit a snag, jerking his head slightly. He really should brush his hair better if he's going to let it grow out.

“Who?” Anathema looks confused before smiling brightly. “Did you meet someone? Good for you!”

“I met him at this coffee shop I went to today. We ran into each other and then sat down at the same table. We were talking and he was just so fascinating so I gave him my number. He called me—that was the phone call I had to step out for—and everything was going fine. We set up a dinner date—at least I think it’s a date—and then I called him angel!” Crowley collapses in a chair, his limbs dangling off the sides and back. “I ruined everything.”

“Stop being a drama queen, you idiot.” Anathema nudges him with her index finger. “You ruined literally nothing. So stop your moping, it's making your aura all cloudy and depressing. I will make you clean the shop tonight.” Crowley sits up straighter, glaring.

“You can’t do that. You’re not the boss.” Anathema shrugs, smirking.

“I have ways to get you to do whatever I want.” Crowley groans, rolling his amber eyes. The sunglasses hide the movement but he’s sure the message was conveyed anyways. “None of that bloody witchcraft shite you insist on talking about!” The brunette rolls her eyes.

“One day, it’s going to be the end of the world and I’ll be saving your ass with my witchcraft you insist on mocking. So don't diss what could save your life. I might just let you die instead.” Crowley looks at her before bursting into laughter. Anathema huffs, crossing her arms, an odd look on her face. “Anyways, back to you and your dramatics. I don’t think you ruined anything. I can go creep on where he works, though!”

“No.” Crowley says it immediately and forcefully, knowing how bad this could turn out if he let Anathema do that. A small part of him wonders if it wouldn't be so bad if Anathema went.

“You’re no fun!” Crowley flashes his teeth in a pointy smile.

“I know.” Anathema rolls her eyes. “But, if you were to, say, take a quick break and creep on over to the bookshop that I will not tell you is called AZ Fell Bookshop, it’s your own time and I can’t stop you. Nor could I yell at you about it, since, again, it's your own time.” Anathema grins, inching towards the door. Before Crowley can change his mind, she’s out the backroom door.

“I’ll be back soon!” she calls before the tinkling of the bell announces her departure. Crowley groans, slouching in his chair even more. Why did he let her do this? Crowley rests his head on the tale. _Anathema, don’t fuck this up._

* * *

Anathema strolls down the street, a giddy pip in her step, her skirts bunched up in her hands so she doesn't trip over them. She’s quite surprised Crowley let her do this. Normally he doesn’t let her anywhere near the person he fancies. Not that Crowley gets close enough to people to start to like them. This man must be special if he's captured Crowley's attention this quickly. He better not hurt Crowley.

The bell dings as the young woman enters the small bookshop. She takes a deep breath as a warm, comforting feeling incases her. It feels like a warm hug, the kind she wishes she got from her parents. Anathema glances at the massive shelves filled with books that look older than Crowley and she’s positive he’s ancient, trying to read it's aura(although, items don't necessarily have an aura, they just have a feeling based off the person who they are connected too). The brunette shivers at the way the bookshop feels. Even it's aura is welcoming. Anathema has never felt anything like this.

She walks to one of the shelves and gently runs her hand over the spines of the books. A wave of love washes over her as she gently moves her hand along the shelf. Whoever this man is, he really loves his books.

“Hello there, dear,” a middle aged man says, popping out from behind a bookshelf with a bright smile. She studies his aura and realizes _he's_ the reason for the feeling that surrounds the shop. The man's pale blond curls catch the lighting, looking like a halo. She can almost imagine a pair of white wings stretching from the man's back. He seems human, though, so maybe it's just a coincidence. Although, the colors swirling around him seem different, almost inhumane. _This must be Crowley's angel_ , Anathema thinks, staring at the man. Her suspicions are confirmed when the man introduces himself as Aziraphale, one of the angels Anathema grew up learning about.

A prophecy runs through Anathema's head, one her mother took special care in making her memorize. Long hours of sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the small words that hold such importance, making sure they stuck in her mind. These words were more important then any homework her teachers had assigned that day. _At which hour the sir of flowers sends thee to the shop of other men’s books, thee, Anathema, wilt meeteth the angel who is't’s holp thee seek for the days to cometh,_ she recites in her head.

“Oh my God!” Anathema whispers, feeling lightheaded. “You’re the angel.” Aziraphale looks extremely confused as he steps forward. 

“I’m sorry?” Aziraphale looks at her, concern filling his face. “Are you okay, dear girl? You’re looking awfully pale. Why don’t you lie down? I’ll make you some tea. Here you go, my dear.” The blond guides Anathema to a couch in the back, his touch soft and warm and far more comforting then it should be, before bustling off. He returns with a steaming cup of tea that he hands gently to Anathema. "Drink up, dear. I would prefer you don't leave until you're done with the tea. It should help." He stares at her until she takes a sip of the hot liquid.

“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to freak out on you.” She laughs but it’s a poor replacement for a laugh. It's the kind of laugh that sounds a bit too crazy to be trusted and a bit too false to be worth even attempting to believe. Aziraphale bites his lip, looking even more concerned. “Just remembered something. Everything is fine. Thank you for the tea, though. It’s good.” She takes a sip, the warm liquid sliding down her throat and filling her with a sense of comfort. “You make a damned good tea.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale takes a sip from his own cup of tea. Anathema almost bursts into laughter at the angel wing mug. If this man isn’t her angel then Anathema is going to have a serious conversation with whoever set this whole thing up. Another thought pops into her head. If Aziraphale is the angel, could Crowley be the demon? The prophecy does mention a demon who lives in a world of flowers. That makes her feel like an idiot, knowing that one important piece of the Armageddon was right under her nose this whole time.

“Do you need to talk about whatever it is that’s bothering you?” Aziraphale asks, setting his cup down carefully on a coaster. He looks at Anathema with his piercing blue stare. She forces herself not to look away as the man seems to stare directly into her soul. It's unnerving how it feels like the blond is looking through a window and seeing all her secrets and thoughts. The young woman finally looks away, choosing to look at her hands cupped around the blue mug instead of Aziraphale.

“Do you know anything about prophecies?” Anathema asks, looking back up for a moment. Their eyes meet again but, this time, there is no uncomfortable feeling of soul searching, no secrets being revealed through the eyes, only curiosity filling the blue gaze.

“I do. I have a small collection of books of prophecies. There are only a couple of accurate prophecies in them, though.” The blond narrows his eyes at her, a glint of ice in the warm gaze. “You aren’t looking to buy any, are you?” Anathema laughs, shaking her head. 

“No, I am not. I’m not sure I make enough money to purchase any of the books here, even if I wanted too.” Aziraphale smiles at her, the cold of his gaze gone almost as quickly as it had arrived. “Anyways, there’s this book, a book of prophecies that are accurate, that’s been passed down through my family. Maybe you’ve heard of the author, Agnes Nutter?”

“Oh, I do believe I’ve heard of her. She was a witch, born in 1600, burned in 1656. I’ve been trying to get my hands on a copy of her book for a long time. Unfortunately there was only one copy ever published. That must be terribly exciting for you and your family, to own the only copy.” Anathema bites her lip. Time for another risk. Oh, her mom is going to kill her for this.

“Maybe I could lend it to you sometime?” The bookshop owner’s eyes light up with excitement and surprise. He takes another sip of his tea, hiding his face momentarily. “I’d need it back, of course, but I have most of the prophecies written down so you could take your time to look through it.” _And realize you need to help me stop this damn Apocalypse._

“Oh, my dear, that is far too kind of you. I would love to borrow the book.” Aziraphale’s hands flutter for a moment as a blinding smile fills his face. Anathema can see why Crowley likes this guy so much. He truly is an angel, with or without his ethereal powers. She wonders if all angels are like this. She's pretty sure the other demons aren't like Crowley since the worst thing she's ever seen him do was not open the door for the crowd of people behind him(which is completely understandable. Once you hold that door, you are stuck there).

“I’ll drop it off later. I get off after 5 so it will be in the evening when I drop it off, if that’s okay with you.” Anathema has no idea what time Crowley is meeting Aziraphale and she wonders if she can get the blond to tell her. 

“I’m actually, uh, meeting someone tonight so it might be better if you drop it off tomorrow.” Aziraphale fidgets with his hands again, not meeting Anathema’s eyes. She wishes Crowley was here so he could see the adorable blush spreading all over the man’s face. 

“Oh, that’s fine! I wouldn't want to keep you from whomever the lucky person is. I'll drop it off in the morning. It was really nice meeting you but I should probably get going. Lots of work to do, a boss to bother.” Anathema stands up, holding out her hand. Aziraphale shakes it, a brilliant smile on his face. Anathema notices the golden ring on his pinky and wonders where it came from.

“It was nice meeting you too, my dear. Do be careful!” Aziraphale walks with Anathema to the door, waving as she crosses the street. Excitement wells up in Anathema. She’s found her angel and Crowley will hopefully fall in love with this amazing man and they will get married and adopt and let Anathema babysit their kids. She hums a happy tune on her way back to the flower shop. Crowley stands at the grey counter, tapping his fingers on the marble. She giggles at the impatient look on his face.

“So?” Crowley calls when she enters the shop. His sunglasses hide his eyes but Anathema is sure that if she could see his eyes they would be narrowed with anticipation. Anathema grins at him, slowly making her way to the counter. She pauses to adjust a bouquet of red roses before continuing her path. "Anathema, tell me what happened?" The witch smirks, placing a bouquet of jasmine back in it's proper spot. She turns to Crowley, who taps his fingers impatiently.

“I’ve decided that I’m babysitting the kids you guys adopt,” she says with a wide smile.

* * *

Crowley takes a moment to process his friends words before going red in the face. “Ana? What the fuck?” Crowley splutters as the young woman laughs at him. He scowls at her, tugging gently on a strand of her long hair. She bats his hand away. “You can’t just say shit like that!” Anathema shrugs her shoulders, her smile growing.

“He is a literal angel!” she gushes, leaning against the counter, her eyes lighting up. “If you don’t marry him, I’m adopting him as my gay dad anyways. He is legit the nicest person to ever walk the face of the earth. If he wasn't completely gay I'd totally ask him out myself.” Crowley smiles, pleased Anathema likes Aziraphale. It’s only been a day but he likes Aziraphale but if Anathema didn’t approve Crowley wouldn’t let things go any farther.

“Who said anything about marriage?” Crowley cautions, holding up a hand. He's sure his face is as red as his hair. He prays to anyone listening that no customers enter the shop.

“Me,” Anathema says matter of factly. "Remember, super awesome witch!" She pulls out her mobile and types something in, sticking her tongue out at the screen when whatever she is searching for loads. “Darn, he doesn’t have any social media, although, I'm not really surprised about that. No website for his bookshop, either.” She frowns at the screen. “Tell your boyfriend to get social media so I can stalk him.” Crowley glares at her.

“First of all, we haven’t even gone on a date yet, so he’s not my boyfriend. Second of all, you're such a creep.” Anathema sticks her tongue out at the redhead, before continuing to scroll. With a huff, she tosses the phone onto the counter.

“Nothing. I’ve met the man and he seems nice but he could be a serial killer. You never know, those 23 women who disappeared might have been his doing.” Crowley rolls his eyes, throwing a pencil at her. Aziraphale a serial killer? That is the most unlikely thing in the world.

“They solved that one, remember? It was some doctor. Now, stop being annoying and actually do work. I’m not paying you to stand around annoying me.”

“I thought that was exactly why you hired me!” Anathema grins innocently. Crowley holds up another pencil threateningly. “Fine, but you aren't exactly doing any work either.” She dodges the pencil. "Fine. But I’m stopping by his bookshop tomorrow to drop off a book. Maybe I’ll see you there.” Crowley’s jaw drops as Anathema walks away. 

“Wait-Ana-why are you going to his bookshop?” The young woman is already gone. “Witch,” Crowley grumbles.

“I heard that!” Anathema calls back.

“Oh, so you hear _that_!” Crowley glares at a single lily laying on the counter. He wonders what kinds of flowers Aziraphale would like, if he would like any flowers.

“Go get ready for your date.” Crowley glances at the clock. It’s two. He doesn’t have to leave for another two hours to get ready, but there aren’t any orders that need to be filled so he will just be standing here doing nothing listening to Anathema’s teasing. With a sigh, he grabs his coat.

“Don’t burn the place down!”

“I will.” Crowley rolls his eyes before heading out the door. The cold day attacks his skin as he struggles with his coat. Finally, it’s on, protecting him slightly from the bitter wind chasing away the warmth. Crowley walks towards his flat, a nervous flutter in his stomach as each step brings him closer and closer to it being time for his date.

A small, grimy man jumps out from an alleyway and grabs onto Crowley’s arm, his dark eyes haunting and cold. 

“Hello, Crowley,” the man says, a terrible smile spreading across his face. The redhead’s heart pounds in his chest as he looks for a way away from the strange man. “Good luck in the days to come.” A burst of psychotic laughter erupts from the man as he walks away, leaving Crowley standing there in confusion and fear.

With a small shake of his head, he makes his way to his flat to prepare for his date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Crowley has a Scottish accent only because I'm absolutely in love with David Tennent's accent. I probably should have mentioned Crowley's accent in the first chapter but I'm mentioning it now lol. 
> 
> Also, the 23 woman killed by the doctor is a reference to Michael Sheen’s character in _The Prodigal Son_.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Next chapter will be the date between Crowley and Aziraphale! I'm hoping to have updates every Wednesday.


	3. Dates and Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale gets a visit from his brother right before the big date. Afterwards, Crowley and Aziraphale have their date.

Aziraphale paces back and forth in his bookshop, glancing at the clock every once in a while. He’s pretty sure time is going backwards because it’s clearly _not_ moving forwards. The clock’s second-hand ticks forward ever so slowly, it’s patronizing _tick-tick-tick_ driving Aziraphale crazy. 

He sits in his armchair and grabs a book at random from the table beside him, hoping for some relief from the mess his head is becoming. Before he can start reading, the bell of the shop dings, announcing someone’s presence. Aziraphale sits up, panic filling him as he wonders who is entering when he’s sure he locked the door. 

“Aziraphale!” someone calls and the blond groans, the panic leaving him, being replaced with annoyance. No, this is a terrible time for a surprise visit from his brother. Gabriel can’t be here now. He glances at the clock again. Crowley shouldn’t be here for another ten minutes so everything should be fine. Just tickety-boo.

“In here, Gabriel,” Aziraphale replies, listening for the dreadful sound of the other man’s footsteps. He winces when he hears a noise that sounds suspiciously like a book falling. He hopes the book landed with out the cover of the pages bending. A tall, broad-shouldered man appears, his violet eyes darting around, betraying the nervous energy hidden behind a calm mask. 

“Aziraphale, I trust you are well.” Gabriel nods his head at his brother. He picks up random books as he talks, either not noticing or not caring as Aziraphale follows behind him, fixing everything. “How’s the bookshop?” 

“Good.” Aziraphale hesitates. “What are you doing here, Gabriel? I thought we decided that we would part ways since Mother and Father do not agree with my...identity.” Gabriel turns away from the clock face he is using as a mirror and sighs.

“You know Mother just wants the best for you. To her, being...gay...isn’t what’s best for you.” Aziraphale laughs but there is no humor in his laugh. He thinks of all the times his mother threatened to kick him out and how she would introduce him with a curl of her lip, ashamed and disgusted by his presence in a similar fashion of how one would feel upon seeing a cockroach in their home. 

“I suppose she hasn’t found out about you yet, has she?” Gabriel flinches, looking uneasy. He turns back to the clock face, his expression dark as he doesn’t say anything. “She wouldn’t care anyways. You were her perfect, darling child. You could do no wrong.” "She loved you, in her own way," Gabriel says, regret and guilt filling his voice. "Maybe she was jealous. She was a bitter, old woman and you were kind despite the world tearing you down." Gabriel smiles softly at his brother. It's a bitter smile but it's a smile nonetheless. "I'm sorry I didn't help you more. I was too selfish, wrapped up in my own worries and issues."

"You have never needed to apologize, Gabriel. You did nothing wrong." Aziraphale sighs, returning his brothers smile. “I'm happy to see you, but why are you here, Gabriel?” The man flinches again, this time for a different reason. His smile disappears into the dark depths of the shadowy expression on his face as he stares at Aziraphale in the reflection of the clock face.

“I’m sorry, Michael, I can’t do this,” he murmurs, looking to the sky, his words almost too quiet to hear. Aziraphale hears them though, and confusion hits him like a lightning bolt. He steps closer to his brother, hand outstretched, wanting to touch his brother, to comfort him. His hand drops when Gabriel shakes his head ever so slightly, guilt and anger warring against each other on his face.

“Who’s Michael? What do they want you to do? Gabriel, are you in trouble? Do you need help?” Aziraphale tries to keep the barely contained panic out of his voice. A wave of emotions flits across his brother’s face before settling on a stony mask that Gabriel wears whenever he’s about to lie.

“Michael is an acquaintance and no, I’m not in trouble. She just wanted me to do something that I can’t do. I should go. I’m about to be late for something. Take care, Zira.” The nickname from when they were children feels more like a goodbye then the warmth it used to feel like. Gabriel looks at Aziraphale for a moment before patting him on the back, perhaps just a little too hard--Gabriel's version of a hug. He leaves the bookshop, the bell over the door the only sign of Gabriel's departure. Aziraphale stands there in confusion until a familiar face appears in front of him.

“Hey, are you okay?” Crowley asks, looking hesitant. His hand twitches forward as if to touch Aziraphale before pulling back. Aziraphale stares at Crowley before blinking and slowly nodding his head, unable to process what just happened. 

“I’m fine. Just tickety-boo.” A confused look flashes across Crowley’s face. 

“Tickety-boo?” he asks, enunciating the word. Aziraphale never realized how stupid the word sounded until Crowley said it in his perfect voice. “What the fuck is a ‘tickety-boo’?” The blond stares at his hands, blinking back the tears in his eyes. He shouldn’t be crying over a stupid word. _It's not just the word_ a small voice in the back of his head tells him. 

“It’s something people say.” Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Some people?” The eyebrow raises higher. “Okay, fine. I’m the only one who says it.” The eyebrow disappears behind those dreadful sunglasses that Crowley wears. Aziraphale likes them but he would also like to see the redhead’s eyes. “I know, it’s weird.” Aziraphale twists the ring on his pinky around and around until it starts to hurt. He continues to do it, hoping the pain will keep the tears away. “I like it. It’s very you. It fits with your adorable old-fashioned look.” Crowley grins and Aziraphale gives him a small smile in return. Crowley's smile slowly turns into a frown as he studies Aziraphale's face. “I can go if you want. If you need to cancel, I’m fine with that.” Aziraphale bites his lip, shaking his head. He stops twisting the ring and meets what he hopes is Crowley’s eyes. 

“No, my dear. I’d rather not. I’ve waited all day for this and I won’t let my brother and my own silliness ruin it.” Crowley smiles but still looks unsure. “Come on, dear. Let’s go eat.”

* * *

Crowley sits across from Aziraphale. The blond chatters away as they wait for their food. Crowley could listen to Aziraphale talk all day and never get bored. There’s something about the way the man’s face lights up and his hands move as he talks about different things. It’s hard to focus on the words when all Crowley wants to do is let Aziraphale’s voice wash over him until all his worries are a distant dream.

“I met this very exciting woman today,” Aziraphale is saying as Crowley tunes back in. “Her name is Anathema and she’s a witch. I think you’d like her.” The redhead is wide-eyed as his brain processes Aziraphale’s words.

“She talked to you?” he blurts out before the words can be shoved away. Confusion fills those beautiful blue eyes.

“Pardon?”

“Ah-fuck! I just mean, uh, Anathema, she works for me. She's actually that employee I was telling you about. I didn’t realize she...erm, talked to you.” Aziraphale starts laughing and Crowley’s face goes red. “Did I say something funny?” He scowls, glowering at his glass of wine. He just couldn't keep his mouth shut, could he?

“I’m so sorry, my dear boy, it’s just the whole time I was talking to her, I never realized you knew her too. What a small world!” Crowley laughs awkwardly, tapping his fingers on the table in a random rhythm. _Is it a small world if I’m the one who sent her?_ he wants to ask.

“Yeah, small world,” he says instead. Crowley takes a sip of his wine, his fingers still tapping out their rhythm. He can almost imagine the drum that would tap out this rhythm. Too bad he doesn’t know how to play the drums. Maybe he should learn...

“Are you okay?” Aziraphale asks, interrupting Crowley’s thoughts, his face twisting into a look of concern. Crowley focuses all his attention back on the blond, wondering what happened to make the blond so worried.

“Yeah, why?”

“You’re fidgeting.” Crowley looks down at his fingers and forces them to stop moving. An uncomfortable restlessness settles over him without the constant movement so he moves the tapping to his mid-thigh instead.

“Yeah, sorry. I do that sometimes. Is it bothering you?” Aziraphale shakes his head.

“I just was worried you were getting bored or something. I have been talking quite a bit about myself.” A look crosses Aziraphale’s face before being covered by a careful mask. Crowley touches the back of Aziraphale’s hand with his fingers before pulling back slightly.

“You could never bore me, angel.” They both freeze before a look of shy joy fills the blond’s face. “I’m sorry. I can stop if you-”

“No, please. I don’t mind.” Aziraphale smiles brightly. “It makes me feel...good if that makes any sense.” Crowley grins back, a fuzzy feeling invading his body. The feeling isn't entirely unwelcome, though.

“If it makes you smile like that more often, I’ll call you angel every day of my life.” Crowley curses himself for how his words could be taken but Aziraphale doesn't seem to notice. Instead, he blushes, staring at his wine, a big smile on his face. A warm, fuzzy feeling bubbles up in Crowley’s chest. It warms him and fills him with happiness. He wants to bottle up the feeling and never let it go.

“You’re such a flirt.” Crowley’s heard that before and every other time, the words hurt like sharp knives but the way Aziraphale says it, accompanied by that smile, it sounds more like a compliment. There’s still a small sting but it’s not as bad. In an odd way, it’s comforting.

“I’m only a flirt for you, angel.” Crowley winks.

“Your dinners, sir,” the server says, interrupting Aziraphale’s spluttering. He sets down their food. Crowley stares at the meal in front of him when a soft sound floats through the air towards him. He glances up to see Aziraphale’s eyes closed as he chews his food. The image is the most erotic thing Crowley’s ever seen. He imagines Aziraphale laid out in front of him, enjoying Crowley’s cock in his mouth just like he’s enjoying the food-

 _Stop it,_ Crowley tells himself. _Don’t be a pervert or a creep._

“Isn’t it good?” Aziraphale asks, meeting Crowley’s gaze with his big blue eyes. Somehow, he always manages to meet Crowley’s eyes despite the sunglasses. It’s slightly unnerving.

“Ngk. Yes, good,” Crowley responds, blushing. He quickly shoves a bite into his mouth before choking on the too-large mouthful. A small feeling of panic washes over him as he struggles to get a breath when Crowley finally manages to swallow the bite.

“Are you okay, my dear?” Aziraphale touches Crowley’s hand again as the redhead finally manages to control himself. The touch makes everything worse, though, as sparks spread from the spot of contact to all over his body.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. Satan was choking me.” Aziraphale chuckles, taking a sip of his wine. “So, how’s your meal?” Aziraphale’s eyes light up.

“It’s absolutely splendid, my dear. I’m so happy that you suggested this restaurant. I’ve never been here before and it’s absolutely delightful!” He gives a small wiggle of delight that shouldn’t be so damn cute. Their hands touch again and Crowley is positive his heart is going to pound right out of his chest.

“I’m glad you like it.” Crowley smiles softly. “So, tell me how long have you had your bookshop?”

“Oh, it’s been at least twenty-five years. It was quite weird. I got a letter one day stating that I was the owner of the bookshop and that I was welcome to move anytime. I’m happy it happened though. The bookshop is my home and a large part of me." Aziraphale pauses, a nostalgic smile on his face. "How long have you had your flower shop?” Aziraphale takes a bite of his food while waiting for Crowley’s response, erasing any semblance of thoughts.

“I-erm, I’ve had it for fifteen years, I think. I’ve managed to expand, actually. I have another shop we are working on building in this cute place called Tadfield. I have to find some people to work their and make sure it will be smooth running but I'm quite excited.” Aziraphale smiles.

“Wow! Crowley, that’s exciting.” Aziraphale’s eyes shimmer with excitement and pride. It makes Crowley’s heart pound with happiness.

“Thanks. Any thoughts on expanding your bookshop?” Aziraphale shudders at the thought.

"I think I'd have to actually sell some books before I do that." At Crowley's confused look he adds, "I'm not particularly fond of selling my books so I only sell when nessacary." Crowley chuckles, not at all surprised about that. The two finish their meals in silence, aside from Aziraphale’s tiny noises, and leave the restaurant.

“Would you, erm, like to take a walk with me?” Aziraphale asks as they walk back towards the bookshop. Crowley had wanted to bring his Bentley but Anathema told him not to since he “drives like a bat outta hell”(her words). Now he's glad he didn't if it means spending more time with the amazing person beside him.

“Sure, that would be great.” Crowley winces at the sound of his voice. It's higher pitched and slightly breathy. Aziraphale smiles at him softly before reaching over and taking Crowley’s hand. The redhead freezes at the touch.

“Is this okay?” the blond asks, staring up at Crowley with worried eyes. _Is it okay? It’s more than okay,_ Crowley thinks, his heart racing.

“Ngk, yes! This is okay!” Crowley says quickly, worried that Aziraphale will move away if he doesn’t speak in time. The two grin at each other like idiots before realizing they are in a crowded area and if they don't move, people will continue to bump into them. “Walk. Yes, let us.” Crowley nods his head.

“Walk,” Aziraphale agrees with a nervous chuckle. They stroll through St. James’s park in silence, asking the occasional question. They continue to hold hands, their shoulders brushing if they get too close. Crowley wishes he could capture the way Aziraphale looks underneath the stars with the glow of the moon making his blue eyes turn a brilliant shade of grey. His hands itch for paper and pencil when the blond starts talking animatedly about one of his books, his eyes glowing with delight. He looks like the kinds of angels painters would paint.

Crowley never wants to give this memory up, not even if it meant he had to give up everything to keep it.

Once they reach the bookshop, Crowley is completely drunk. He’s drunk on Aziraphale, drunk on the night, and drunk on happiness. He’s never believed in love at first sight but the way his heart beats when he thinks of Aziraphale and the way his arms itch to pull the man closer, this has to be love or something that feels a lot like love. It scares him so badly yet thrills him in a way nothing else has.

“We are here,” Aziraphale says, gesturing awkwardly to his bookshop. “Do-do you want to come up?” Blue eyes meet amber eyes— _how does he do that?_ —through the sunglasses. "You don't have too."

“If you’re sure,” Crowley responds, suddenly glad for his sunglasses to hide the emotions in his eyes. He’s not quite sure what his eyes would show but they’d definitely be something too forward.

“I-I’m sure.” Aziraphale smiles up at Crowley.

“Then, okay.”

“Okay.” They stare at each other for a little longer before Aziraphale turns and unlocks the door. He holds the door for Crowley, who looks around as he enters. When he first entered the bookshop, he didn’t really notice anything about the place. He takes a look around, admiring the way the place is cluttered in a comforting way. The piles and shelves of books feel like home in a way his flat has never felt like. Even amongst his flowers, which is the closest place to a home he’s ever had, it felt lacking. Here, amongst these books—some of which Crowley has never even heard of—he feels free. Add a couple of plants, and this place would be Heaven on Earth.

“Sorry for the mess,” Aziraphale says, twisting his hands in front of his stomach. "Wasn't really expecting company. Plus, my brother visited. He always makes a mess of my books. I'm not sure why but he feels a need to rearrange things." The blond chuckles nervously.

“‘S fine, I like it,” the redhead responds, looking at Aziraphale. “It’s very cozy.” A small smile flits across the blond’s face as he flutters around the room, fixing things and placing books in different places. He glances at Crowley, almost as if he forgot the redhead was there. Aziraphale leads Crowley to a back room where a brown couch as well as more books reside. There's a small set of stairs in the back that must lead up to Aziraphale's flat.

“Would you like some wine?” Aziraphale calls, stepping into a room Crowley assumes is the kitchen. The redhead sits on the couch, stretching his limbs out as much as possible but still leaving enough room for Aziraphale. He doesn't want to be a dick in the man's own house, after all.

“Sure.” Aziraphale reappears with two glasses of a dark red. He hands one to Crowley before sitting a little ways away. He takes a sip of the wine, staring directly at Crowley the whole time. The redhead swallows loudly, looking away.

“What’s your favorite book?” Crowley asks, studying the many shelves. Aziraphale looks at Crowley thoughtfully, chewing on his lower lip. "Do you even have a favorite book? I feel like it would be hard to have a favorite when you read so many books."

“I don't think I have a favorite. I agree with you, it is hard to find a favorite when you read so much. There are so many delightful books that I couldn’t possibly hope to choose one! I am particularly fond of Oscar Wilde, though. Especially his _The Picture of Dorian Gray_. What about you, my dear? Do you have a favorite?”

 _My dear.’ It will be the death of me,_ Crowley thinks.

“I don’t read,” he says out loud. Aziraphale lets out a shock gasped, placing a hand over his heart. “Guess I haven’t really found a book that I really enjoyed.” The blond is up in a flash, rummaging through a pile of books. He returns triumphantly with a small book in hand. He holds it out to Crowley almost nervously. _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies_ the cover says. Crowley takes the book hesitantly.

“Isn’t this a love story?” he asks dubiously. Aziraphale rolls his eyes in fond exasperation, settling back into his spot on the couch.

“Yes but there are also zombies!” Crowley looks at the cover of the book before setting it in his lap. “You don’t have to read it. I don’t want to force you to read it.” Aziraphale bites his lip, blushing as he reaches for the book. Crowley quickly picks up the book, holding it to his chest.

“I’m reading it. No take backs,” he says, childishly sticking out his tongue. Aziraphale smiles softly. “I hope it’s spooky. Big spooky fan, me.” Crowley takes a sip of his wine, glancing at the clock, which is slowly ticking closer to ten’o o'clock. _Should I go?_ he wonders, glancing at Aziraphale who doesn’t seem to mind his presence.

“Can I kiss you?” Aziraphale blurts out. His face goes beet red and he jumps up from the couch, pacing back and forth. Crowley lets out a noise that is half of a squeak, half of a gasp. If you asked him about it, he would deny it until he is blue in the face. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that! Please, just ignore me-”

“Of course you can kiss me, angel,” Crowley interrupts, his face warming. Aziraphale stops his pacing and looks at the redhead before starting to slowly creep closer, his eyes shining with excitement and uncertainty. He stands in front of Crowely, just taller than the seated man. The redhead stands up so that he is face to face with Aziraphale. They stare at each other, not knowing how to progress.

It’s unknown who moved in first. All Crowley knew was that there was space between their lips, not even a millimeter of room, and there is no space. Time seems like it has stopped. It must have stopped because the only thing happening is the kiss. Even the ticking of the clock has fallen silent. Nothing is more important than right now and Aziraphale.

Aziraphale’s lips are soft and warm and so amazing. Crowley wants to fall into the blond’s embrace and never leave. He cups Aziraphale’s face, running a thumb over the blond’s cheek. Pudgy hands come up and wrap themselves around Crowley’s neck, gently tangling with the hair at the base of his neck. Crowley groans as Aziraphale pushes a hand into his long hair.

“Wow,” Aziraphale says when he finally pulls back. His blue eyes stare up into amber ones. “Can-can I take off your sunglasses?” Crowley gulps and slowly nods his head, lowering his head slightly. Aziraphale reaches up slowly, giving Crowley plenty of time to pull back. He doesn’t. He lets the blond take off his sunglasses, baring his terrible eyes to the sweet angel in front of him. It’s weird, revealing his eyes like this, in front of someone who makes his heart beat out a melody of wonder and excitement. He doesn’t fear Aziraphale’s response in a way he normally does.

The blond’s plump, slightly kiss-bruised lips part in an ‘o’ as he looks at Crowley's eyes. One of his hands comes up and brushes against a spot next to one of the redhead's eyes. The touch is almost reverent and it causes a lump in Crowley's throat to form. He clears his throat, trying to erase the feeling.

“I know, they are weird and-” Crowley tries to say, looking away in an attempt to hide his eyes. He wants to snatch his sunglasses back but Aziraphale is holding them close to his chest, possibly in an effort to stop Crowley from taking them.

“Crowley, your eyes—they’re beautiful!” Crowley sucks in a breath, looking at Aziraphale. He wants to turn away from the awe in his eyes but he also wants to capture the look and never let it go. His lungs ache for air as he stops breathing, wondering what the feeling flowing through him is. It feels like more than just liking Aziraphale, it feels like a warm hug on a bad day or a smile brighter than the sun. It feels like the breathlessness you get when you stare at the stars or the feeling of peace when you’re listening to your favorite song.

“Shuddup,” Crowley mumbles, turning away, his face heating up. Warm fingers lift his chin so that he meets Aziraphale’s eyes. The blond presses a chaste kiss to his lips, pulling back enough to stare at Crowley with a warmth blazing in his eyes.

“Crowley, if you don’t mind me asking, why do you hide your eyes?” Crowley’s brain whirls, trying to find an answer. It’s too much yet it’s not enough. He wants to move far away, get away from the warm touches, and the soft smiles that he so selfishly wants all for himself. He wants to lean forward and drown himself in the scent of Aziraphale. He settles on shifting slightly so that he isn’t as close to Aziraphale. The blond takes the hint and obediently pulls back.

“My eyes...they look weird and people don’t like them,” the redhead admits, staring at a bookshelf over Aziraphale’s shoulder. His eyes pass over the assortment of books that seem familiar yet so different. He feels an itch in his skin, an urge to get out of the bookshop. It feels wrong, being here, when there's something that is missing. What's missing isn't something that Crowley can figure out, though.

“I think they're beautiful,” Aziraphale whispers, his hands twitching as if to reach out to Crowley. The redhead longs for the touch but he’s afraid he will burst if he and Aziraphale touch again. Something burns underneath his skin, something that makes him jumpy and uncomfortable.

“I have to go. I had a lovely evening,” Crowley says quickly when a look of hurt crosses the blond’s face. He takes the sunglasses when Aziraphale offers them, shoving them up his nose. A sense of security fills him as his barrier is put back up. “I’ll call you or you can call me. Have a goodnight, angel.” Crowley hesitates for a quick moment before brushing his fingers lightly across Aziraphale’s cheek.

He hurries out of the bookshop, an indescribable feeling ballooning up in his chest. He doesn't think as he makes his way back to his flat, only wanting to get back to his home and away from his feelings. Crowley enters his flat and stands in front of his mirror, sunglasses off, trying to see what Aziraphale sees. Yellow eyes stared back at him, with the terrible snake-like pupils mocking him. He stares for a moment longer before turning away, unable to see the beauty Aziraphale sees. A sob escapes him as he thinks of his mother who would give him hugs when the teasing got too bad. His mother who would sing him to sleep when the monsters attacked with a ferocity that only monsters conjured up by one's mind can.

His mom, who's life was cut short.

Crowley quickly takes off his clothes before collapsing on his bed. His eyes close as he attempts to fall asleep. Sleeping won’t make him feel things. Sleeping will get rid of all the weirdness going on inside his head. 

_A large building appears in front of him. It looks like the Bastille in France. Crowley rolls his eyes as he strolls through the prison, people in cells begging him to help them. He ignores them, trying to get rid of the sharp stab of pain in his chest as the cries for help grow louder._

Stupid Aziraphale, having to go and get captured, _he thinks, stopping outside a slightly larger cell. A man stands in it, talking to another man--Aziraphale, he realizes. A snarl threatens to erupt from Crowley as the French man touches Aziraphale. He snaps his fingers and, suddenly, he is inside the cell, shrouded in the shadows._

_“Too bad you must die,” the Frenchman says, leaning close to Aziraphale. The blond flinches back, the chains around his wrists restraining him from going too far. “I would have loved to have your pretty little mouth around my-” Crowley snaps his fingers and time stops._

_“Well, seems you have an admirer,” the redhead purrs, sauntering closer to Aziraphale. The blond sniffs, looking at the executioner with disdain._

_“He was quite out of place with his words and touches. I would have greatly appreciated it if he did not get as close as he did.” Crowley silently agrees with the statement._

_“Why didn’t you just use a miracle, angel?” Crowley prowls around Aziraphale, admiring the elegant outfit the blond is wearing. It hugs his body in all the right places. How anyone could kill something this gorgeous is beyond Crowley._

_“I-uh, Gabriel wasn’t happy with my miracle usage. He said it was frivolous.” Aziraphale pouts, crossing his arms the best he can with his limited movement._

_“Oh, your poor thing.” Crowley smirks, snapping his fingers. The chains disappear, releasing the angel from their hold. “What’d he do? Send you a rude note?” Aziraphale’s eyes flash with something unreadable._

_“What he did is none of your business!” Aziraphale frowns, his eyes stormy. Crowley raises his hands up._

_“Okay, okay. Sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.” Aziraphale softens a little bit. “So, what were you doing in France?” The blond blushes._

_“I got peckish,” he mumbles._

_“You got peckish? So you came to France dressed like_ that _in the middle of a revolution?” Crowley’s jaw drops. “What happened to your bookshop? That’s safe! That doesn’t end up with you locked in a prison waiting for your head to be chopped off.”_

_“I can’t get crepes in London like I could in France. Plus, I have standards.” Aziraphale sniffs. Crowley rolls his eyes at the fussy angel. “Suppose I should thank you.” The redhead wrinkles his nose._

_“Best not. Wouldn’t look very good for me, saving an angel. And my lot definitely don’t send rude notes.”_

_“Ah, well, let me offer my gratitude in the form of lunch, then?” Crowley gives the angel a pointed look._

_“Dressed like that?” Aziraphale huffs, a small pout playing at his lips. He waves his hands over his body, switching his outfit with the executioner’s outfit._

_“I suppose it didn’t really count as a miracle,” he mutters as he stands by Crowley’s side. The demon snaps his fingers, starting time up again._

_“-cock,” the Frenchman finishes. He whirls around when he notices Aziraphale is gone. He can’t see the two immortal beings standing in the corner due to a demonic miracle._

__

_Aziraphale flinches when a couple of men come in and drag the screaming executioner out of the cell._

_“What’s for lunch?” Crowley asks._

_“How do you feel about crepes?” the angel asks, looking at Crowley instead of the empty cell._

_“Let’s do it.”_

_The image shifts to show Crowley and Aziraphale being yanked away from each other. Crowley feels claws digging into his skin as a dark skinned man drags him away from Aziraphale._

_“Crowley!” the angel sobs as a tall woman holds Aziraphale with his arms behind his back. “Please, let him go! I’ll do anything you want, just let him go.”_

_“We can’t do that, Aziraphale,” the woman says, a sneer on her face. “We must kill you and your little demon whore.” Fury crosses the blond’s face but he can’t move enough to fight his capture._

_“Where are we doing this?” the man holding Crowley asks. “Are we are still following the original plan?”_

_“Of course. It’s more torture for them that way.” A terrible grin crosses the woman’s face. “And more fun for us.”_

_The scene shifts again, this time showing Aziraphale tied to a pier with a tall man standing in front of him. The man, an angel, brushes a hand across Aziraphale’s face, making Crowley snarl._

_“Oh hush,” a new demon says. “It’s not like he's in pain...yet. Gabriel’s making sure of that.” The small demon grins, the flies buzzing around them moving faster with excitement. “I’m excited to finally be rid of you, Crowley.”_

_“Bring me the Hellfire!” Gabriel shouts. A lower demon scurries towards the angel with a torch in their hand. “Give Lord Beelzebub the holy water.” Beelzebub grins, rubbing their hands together as the same angel who was holding onto Aziraphale walks close._

_“This will be fun. I can't believe it, the great Crowley finally getting what he deserves.”_

_“I love you, angel!” Crowley shouts at Aziraphale, watching in horror as the hellfire burns the pier the angel is tied to. Holy water is poured on Crowley, Beelzebub blocking his view of Aziraphale. The last thing Crowley hears before the holy water destroys him completely is Aziraphale saying, “I will always love you, my dear Crowley.”_

Crowley shoots up off of his bed, his heart racing. There is no fucking way those dreams are real. He must have had something weird to eat.

He grabs his phone, squinting at the too bright screen. It’s just after two in the morning. With a groan, Crowley falls back onto his bed, the image of Aziraphale’s frightened face forever burned into his memory.

Real or not real, those dreams were terrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will focus mostly on Anathema and Newt as the Apocalypse draws closer. I'm hoping to continue with my every Wednesday updates.
> 
> Crowley’s tapping his fingers is something I do(I kept doing it while I was writing lol) so that’s where that idea came from. Also, I realized my timeline for this story is kinda all over the place and doesn't follow the timeline of the book or the tv show. oops...
> 
> Thanks for reading! ❤️


	4. Flowers and Cults

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anathema and Newt meet.

Anathema sweeps the shop floor, brushing away loose petals and dirt and other things that managed to gather on the ground. Her thoughts are occupied by her earlier realizations. If Crowley and Aziraphale are the angel and the demon then that means Armageddon is closer than anyone will ever know.

Anathema sets down the broom. She collapses in a chair and feels a wave of hopelessness wash over her. The Armageddon isn’t supposed to end like this. She was supposed to be happy and be in love. She knows that Agnes prophesied the man to come right before the end but Anathema couldn’t help but wish for someone else to come along and sweep her off her feet. Give her time to experience the true joys of love and happiness. 

“Excuse me, are you closed?” someone asks. Her eyes fly open to see a tall man standing awkwardly by the door. She studies him. The way his dark eyes bounce off everything, never landing on something for very long. The way his glasses keep sliding down his face. His old jacket that he somehow makes work. His light, pastel-colored aura fits the nervous energy he radiates.

Anathema pastes a smile on her face as she stands up.

“No, we aren’t closed. How can I help you?” The man’s face brightens as the two make their way to the counter.

“I’m looking for flowers for my mum. Hoping to soften the blow when I tell her I joined what she would consider a cult.” Anathema laughs and the man blushes.

“Is it a cult?” The man pauses, considering the question.

“I-I think a cult has to have more than two people,” he says finally. “And there’s only two of us.” Anathema laughs again, feeling herself warm up to this strange man. She almost takes a step back at the way her barriers crumble with this man. It terrifies her yet intrigues her at the same time.

“I’m sure your mom would love to hear that.” The man tugs on his sleeve.

“She is absolutely going to murder me,” he says cheerfully. “So, what flowers say ‘I’m sorry. Please don’t murder me’? Wait, can you even say that in flower?” Anathema nods her head, pulling out her old book of the language of flowers. 

“I’m not sure you can say all that but you could give her geraniums, which means ‘stupidity’. Or purple hyacinths, which means ‘I’m sorry’, which might work with the fact that you joined a not-cult.” The man nods his head, obviously taking everything seriously. He looks terrified at the idea of telling his mom about his new ‘hobby’.

“I suppose I could do both if that would even work?” 

“We could do that. May I have a name?” 

“Erm...Newt Pulsifer.” Anathema faintly recognizes the name but doesn’t dwell on the thought. 

Instead, she writes down the order, wondering if Crowley would be suspicious if she insists on doing it herself. 

Nah, she decides. He will be too busy mooning over his angel.

“How long will it take?” Newt asks, fidgeting with the zipper on his jacket. 

“A day or two. Depends on if you want it delivered or not.” Newt taps his fingers on the counter, chewing on his lip. 

“I’ll pick it up. Might be easier that way.” He laughs nervously, eyes darting up to meet Anathema’s eyes. A faint blush colors his cheeks as his dark eyes dart away. 

“We could have it to you by tomorrow.” Anathema finishes writing out the order, tucking it into her apron. “Although, I would recommend waiting if you aren’t going to see your mom in a while. Wouldn’t want her flowers wilting.”

“They won’t be the only thing that’d be dead,” Newt mutters. “I-err, tomorrow is good. I probably don’t want to put off my death.” He laughs nervously, his fingers pattering erratically on the counter. “How much do I owe you?” Anathema bites her lip, wondering how badly Crowley is going to murder her for this.

“No charge.” She leans across the counter, her lips curving into a smile. “Just, buy me dinner sometime?” Newt gulps, looking absolutely terrified. Anathema is certain she read the situation wrong when the man nods his head.

“Y-y-yeah. Sounds like a plan.” Newt smiles slightly. “How does now sound, if you haven’t eaten yet?” Anathema, momentarily startled, nods her head. 

“Let me just grab my purse.”

* * *

“Wow, computer engineer, that’s impressive,” Anathema says, raising an eyebrow. Newt nods his head, looking flustered. “I’m a professional descendent, florist, and care-taker of dumbasses.” It’s Newt’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“Those are odd career choices.” Anathema grins.  
“Yeah. One of my ancestors, her name was Agnes Nutter, she left behind a book of prophecies. My family, we follow them and study them. As for the other part, my boss, he is the biggest dumbass I know. I swear, one day he is going to end up dead because of how stubborn he is.” Newt nods his head, looking unsure.

“Sounds terrible,” he says. “My boss--cult leader, whatever you want to call him--he’s an old man who smokes but I never see him with a cigarette and he drinks his tea with condensed milk and he’s obsessed with witches.” Anathema had, wisely, chosen not to disclose the fact that she was, in fact, a witch herself.

“Do you call him ‘master’?” she asks. Newt looks confused, shaking his head. “Then he might not be a cult leader. We will need more information.” The two laugh at the silliness of it all(Newt also laughs because he can’t ever see Sergent Shadwell in the dark cloaks he imagines cult leaders to wear).

“I just call him Sergent Shadwell, although I’m not quite sure what he’s a sergeant of.” Anathema taps her finger to her chin, thinking.

“Probably a sergeant of catching witches,” she decides. Newt ponders this before nodding his head in agreement.

“Is there a school where you learn how to hunt witches and start cults?” Anathema doesn’t think there is a school like that but she decides there should be. Not that anyone would gather any useful information at a school like that.

“There should be.” Newt nods his head in agreement.

“Your burger, ma’am, and your shepherd’s pie, sir,” the waiter says, placing plates in front of them. Anathema takes a deep breath, the smell of her burger intoxicating after using her lunch break to spy on Crowley’s angel(she knows she could call him Aziraphale but she prefers to call him “Crowley’s angel”). She knew that Crowley would have given her another break but he was too busy freaking out over his date, so she had told him to go, leaving her alone in the shop.

Anathema takes a large bite of her meal, her eyes fluttering shut.

“I forgot how fucking good food tastes,” she mumbles around the mouthful. She licks her lips, gathering any crumbs from around her mouth. Newt’s eyes dart away from her lips, his cheeks bright red.

“Yeah, food...tastes good,” he mumbles, picking up his fork. “So is your boss going to be mad about this?” He waves his fork in the air. Anathema raises an eyebrow. “The fact that I bought you dinner instead of paying for those flowers.”

“Nah, he’s done it before so if he’s mad then he’s being a hypocrite.” Newt nods, still looking nervous. “Don’t worry. He’s not scary.” Newt nods. 

“Do you do this a lot, go on dates?” His blue eyes are curious and guarded. Anathema shakes her head, swallowing her mouthful.

“Nah, I’m too busy. Why?” His eyes go wide and his face turns a deep shade of red.

“J-just wondering. I myself don’t go on many dates either.” 

“That’s surprising.” Newt studies her, looking for any sign of dishonesty but there is none. Anathema has been called many things in her young life but never could she have been accused of lying. It’s not the Device way, to lie, when you can be truthful and let others make their own assumptions.

The rest of dinner is silent, save for Newt’s quiet comments and Anathema’s louder responses.

“You are really pretty,” Newt says quietly as they walk away from the restaurant. “Thank you for agreeing to this meal. I’ve had a lovely evening.” He stares down at his feet.

“Would you like to do this again, sometime?” Anathema, feeling suddenly nervous, stares at her feet as well. 

“I would like that, a lot, I think.” She grins, relieved. Newt grins back. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

“Tomorrow. Get home safe.” Anathema waves, starting to turn away. 

“You too.” 

The walk to the bus stop is uneventful. At one point, Anathema thought she saw a flash of red amongst the sea of people but when she turned to look, the vibrant color was gone. Shaking her head slightly, Anathema continues her trip home. 

She arrives at her small cottage, the time nearing closer to nine. She collapses on her bed, exhausted from the day. She contemplates texting Crowley before deciding against it. He’s probably still with his angel. 

Anathema groans and rolls over, slowly falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how short this is and for the fact that is technically Thursday and I do Wednesday updates. oops. Hey, 1 in the morning isn’t too bad, though.
> 
> Also, i’m sorry if there is anything not correct according to British customs or something else. I do not not have I ever been to London so my apologies for any inaccuracies.
> 
> I’m dead tired but i’ll probably come back and edit this later. Thanks for reading! ❤️


	5. Lunch With Demons and Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley talk about their date. Ligur and Michael show up and Gabriel has a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I'm late. I'm trying to be better at updating but, as you can see, I'm not.

Crowley drags himself out of bed as his alarm shrieks. He stretches in front of the mirror, avoiding looking at his eyes, Aziraphale’s words still floating through his mind on a cloud of Instead, he examines his hair, wondering if he should finally take a shower. 

With a groan, he turns on the water, not caring if it’s too hot or too cold. The water hits him full blast as Crowley steps into the shower. He looks up, letting his face get hit by the cold water. He tries to wash away the dreams with the water but it doesn’t work. 

Instead, the look on Aziraphale’s face when he was dragged away by the angel resurfaces over and over until Crowley is about ready to bang his head against the wall.  
Crowley rests his forehead against the cool wall instead, letting the images wash over him like the water dripping down his back. A new image surfaces, showing him and Aziraphale laying on a picnic blanket, staring up at the stars. Aziraphale rests his head on Crowley’s chest, looking where Crowley pointed.

“Arghhhhh,” Crowley screams, closing his eyes as hot tears stream down his face. A harsh pain overwhelms him, weighing Crowley down. He sinks to the floor, reaching out a hand to shut the water off. He screams again because it feels good to scream and to cry.

“Why me?” he whispers to the empty bathroom. “Why him?” There is no reply, not that Crowley expected one, but he still wishes for some sign that he isn’t alone.  
His mobile rings, blaring “Bohemian Rhapsody”. “Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me!” Freddie Mercury croons as Crowley grabs his mobile from off of the counter.

“Hello, he grumbles, grabbing the towel from off the hook. He wraps it around his waist as he awaits a response from whoever decided to interrupt his emotional breakdown/shower time. “Hello?”

“Oh, hello, Crowley, dear,” a prim and familiar voice says.

“Aziraphale! Great hearing from you.” Crowley actually meant it when he said that.

“I hope I’m not bothering you by calling-”

“You could never bother me, angel.”

“Oh, oh thank you. You are ever so kind, my dear.” Crowley can hear the smile in Aziraphale’s voice.

“I-erm, I had a good time last night.” Crowley regrets the words. Regrets how fragile they sound.

“Did you? That’s good. I was a little worried after you hurried off.” Aziraphale seems unsure of himself and Crowley feels a small stab of self-hatred at the thought of making this beautiful person worry. 

“I’m sorry about that.” 

“Don’t you dare apologize!” Aziraphale sounds angry now. “You have every right to ‘hit the brakes’, I believe they say, when you need to. I only wish that you would have explained to me what I did wrong.” Crowley scrubs a hand over his face, staring at himself in the mirror. He stares at the ugly, terrible eyes that, for some reason, Aziraphale loves.

“We should have lunch,” Crowley says, continuing to stare into his own eyes. He stares at the slitted pupils and the golden color surrounding them. 

“If that’s what you want, my dear. I wouldn’t want to push you into doing anything you don’t want to do.” 

“No, I want to. How about that new cafe? Anathema said it was good.” 

“Speaking of Anathema...hello dear! I’ll be with you in a minute.” Aziraphale’s voice gets closer again. “I would love that, dear boy. How about 1:30? Does that work for you?”

“Can’t wait, angel.”

* * *

“How was your date?” Anathema asks, shoving a large cup of coffee in front of Crowley. She’s her usual 20 minutes late but is forgiven because she comes bearing coffee. And apparently made a trip to Aziraphale’s bookshop.

Crowley takes a long sip before answering.

“It was...good. I like Aziraphale, a lot, I’m just worried that everything is going too fast and that I’ll mess it all up.” Crowley runs his fingers through his hair, sighing. Anathema taps her fingers on the counter, looking thoughtful.

“I talked to him today. I dropped a book off for him. Anyways, he told me that he had a good time. I wouldn’t worry too much. Aziraphale would tell you if things were going too fast. If it makes you feel any better, he seemed...different, happier, then yesterday when I talked to him.” 

“It may not be going too fast now, but what happens later when I inevitably screw things up. You know I’m terrible at this kind of thing. I don’t date. I always manage to fuck things up.” Anathema places her hand on Crowley’s arm, shaking her head.

“Oh, honey, you don’t fuck things up. Other people just don’t know how to accept you. I mean, look at us, you’ve tried fucking things up yet I’m still your best friend. I think you need to stop fearing how Aziraphale will react to all of your flaws and just let him see them. You are a good person, Crowley, and you have flaws. It’s okay to have flaws and it’s okay to share them with others. Don’t just hide away, though.” 

“What if he doesn’t accept me when he finds out how damaged I am?” Crowley wishes he could keep the pain from his voice but he can’t. Anathema stares at him, her eyes fierce.

“You aren’t damaged. You just have some missing pieces. Those missing pieces are the faults of others who have chipped away at you. If Aziraphale can’t accept your past--can’t accept you--then he doesn’t deserve you.” Crowley stares at his best friend for a long while before pulling her in for a giant hug. 

“Thank you, ‘nathama,” he whispers into her hair. Her arms tighten protectively around him. “And, I will only ever say this once, but you’re right. This will be the one time you are ever right, though, so don’t get used to it.” Anathema laughs, pulling away.

“You ass.” Crowley grins, turning as the bell over the shop door rings. A short man walks in, his clothes grimy. His face is twisted into a harsh scowl as he surveys the shop, his dark eyes finally landing on Anathema and Crowley. 

“Hello. How may I help you?” Anathema chirps, seemingly unaware of the danger this man appears to present. The tensing of her shoulders is the only clue Crowley gets.

“I’m looking for...flowers,” the man says, his voice low and gravely. He looks at Crowley, seeming to see all the things he shouldn’t see. Crowley holds back a shudder.

“Okay...what kind of flowers?” Anathema asks, tapping her fingers on the counter. She pulls out a slip of paper and a pencil to write with. The man switches his gaze to Anathema, frowning. 

“I suppose...roses.” The man nods his head, agreeing with himself. “Yes, I believe he likes red roses. A bouquet of roses is what I need.” Crowley watches as Anathema writes down the order. He glances back up at the man, finding the dark eyes back on him. An evil grin slides across the grim face. The smile is a promise, a promise of pain and torture that only the most evil can go through with. 

“Okay. May I have your name?” Anathema looks up, her glasses sliding down her freckled nose. 

“Ligur, Ligur La Vista.” Crowley narrows his eyes. Something is familiar about this man.

“Okay, Mr. La Vista, we will have your order soon. If you would leave a phone number or something so that we can contact you and let you know when your order is ready.” Anathema smiles at the customer. He rattles off a phone number that has far too many sixes for Crowley’s liking(the phone number may or may not be 666-666-6666).  
Mr. La Vista glances at Crowley again before leaving. 

“Well, wasn’t he strange,” Anathema murmurs, looking concerned. “His aura was very...peculiar. He seemed to radiate hatred whenever he looked at you.” Crowley rolls his eyes.  
“Wow, way to help a guy not freak out.” Anathema sticks her tongue out at him. Her focus shifts as her mobile buzzes. She glances at the screen, a small smile filling her face. Crowley leans towards her, trying to see the message. He manages to catch a glimpse of the name.

“Who’s Newt?” he asks, leaning against the counter. “Did the mighty Anathema Device finally decide to date one of us lowlifes?” Anathema glares at him, pressing a button to make the screen go dark. 

“We’ve only had one date.” Her face shifts into a look of guilty defiance. “And he bought me dinner instead of paying for the flowers he ordered.” 

“Anathema!” Crowley groans. “You can’t keep doing that!” Anathema’s face falls slightly.

“I’m sorry, Crowley.” 

“I’m going to let it slide this one last time but only because he made you smile like that. I want to meet him, though. I have to make sure he knows what happens if he hurts you.” Anathema smiles, rolling her eyes.

“Whatever you say, Dad. He’s coming by later so you might get to meet him.” Anathema turns away to help the customer that just walked in. Crowley can still see the smile on her face, though.

 _I really hope that’s not what I look like when talking about Aziraphale,_ he thinks.

* * *

Aziraphale gently dusts the shelves, working hard to not get distracted by any of the books. His thoughts go to Crowley. He wonders what caused him to run out last night. He reruns the night through his head, wondering if he did something wrong. 

The bell shop rings, jolting Aziraphale out of his thoughts.

“I’ll be right with you!” he calls. Aziraphale winds his way through the shop. He stops in surprise when he sees Gabriel standing in the entrance, looking sheepish. “Oh, Gabriel. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Yes, I am aware but I am doing nothing today and I thought it might be fun to hang around your shop. See how you run it. You know, exciting stuff.” Gabriel nods his head, his fingers loosely clapped in front of him.

“Oh, well, okay. Welcome, I guess.” Gabriel walks further into the shop, surveying everything. He picks up a book and studies it. “I’ll just leave you to...whatever you’re doing.” Gabriel nods his head, settling into a chair with his book.

Aziraphale glances at the clock before settling into his spot behind the counter. He opens a book and prepares to start reading when the bell over the counter rings. He glances up to see a tall woman with hair that makes her seem even taller.

“Hello…” Aziraphale trails off as he sees Gabriel glaring daggers at the woman.

“Hello, Aziraphale,” the woman says. 

“H-how do you know my name?” A wave of unease settles over Aziraphale as the woman walks closer. The woman smiles a thin smile that reveals no teeth, yet seems more threatening than if she had used teeth. Her cheekbones seem to glitter oddly with the movement of her face.

“Gabriel didn’t mention me? How, rude of him. Especially since I know all about you and your little demon friend.” She glances over at Gabriel, whose knuckles are pale from how hard he is gripping the chair. “I’m Michael.” She holds out a hand. Aziraphale shakes it, still uneasy and slightly angry on the behalf of whoever his “demon friend” is.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Gabriel growls, suddenly next to the woman. She turns and smiles wider at Gabriel. Her eyes glitter dangerously.

“You shouldn’t be here, either. Yet, here we both are. Your orders were clear, Gabriel.” Michael suddenly frowns, jerking back as if something touched her. “I can’t believe you! We trusted you to not do something as silly as that.” She spits the word out as if it was the foulest thing to ever be said. Aziraphale frowns, not understanding the path this conversation is taking.

“Get out!” Gabriel snarls, looking furious. It’s a look that Aziraphale has only seen once, the day his mother kicked him out. Michael smirks, suddenly regaining her confidence, spinning on her heels.

“Goodbye and good luck.” The door closes with a hint of finality, the bell’s happy chirp suddenly much more sinister.

“You aren’t in a gang, are you?” Aziraphale asks quietly. Gabriel’s face is drawn into a thin, tense look.

“Worse.” Gabriel looks at Aziraphale for a moment before going back to his book of household management. Aziraphale sighs, wishing the time would move faster.

* * *

Crowley watches as Anathema flirts with her not-boyfriend. The man is redder than a tomato. Newt, his name is. Who the fuck names their kid Newt? Crowley glances at the clock, cursing. He’ll be late if he doesn’t leave now.

“Anathema, I’m going on break. Don’t burn the shop down or do anything nasty anywhere near my flowers.” Anathema salutes while Newt goes even redder. “Newton, nice to meet you.” 

“Don’t you think he’s scary?” Newt whispers and Crowley has to stifle his laughter.

“He’s not scary, just a damned eavesdropper!” Anathema’s voice rises at the end. Crowley smirks as he leaves the shop. The cool air washes over him. The clouds on the horizon threaten rain but Crowley isn’t worried. 

He makes his way down the street, avoiding bumping into anyone. The café is small but colorful. He spots Aziraphale right away, with his blond, fluffy hair. A taller man stands with Aziraphale. The two appear to be arguing. 

“Hey, angel,” Crowley says, standing next to Aziraphale. The dark-haired man looks Crowley up and down, his lips curling in a sneer.

“Well, Aziraphale, I guess I should go back to your shop. I wouldn’t want to ruin your date,” the man says. His violet eyes soften as he looks at Aziraphale. “Just, be careful. I don’t know what Michael could be planning.”

“I’ll be fine, Gabriel,” Aziraphale says, sounding exasperated. “Go back to the bookshop.” Gabriel spins on his heels and heads in the direction of the bookshop. Crowley watches him go.

“You seem to have a thing for strange eyes,” he murmurs. Aziraphale smiles.

“That’s my brother, Gabriel. I am not quite sure where he got his purple eyes from, though. Although, I am not sure where I got blue eyes from, either. My mother had brown eyes and my father had black eyes.” Aziraphale shrugs. “I suppose it is nothing to lose sleep over.”

“I like your eyes. They are very…” Crowley searches for the right word. He really does like Aziraphale’s eyes. There is just something about them that makes you trust him instantly. “...mesmerizing,” he decides on.

“I like your eyes too.” Aziraphale says it like the words shouldn’t rock Crowley’s world and make him want to burst with happiness. But they do.

“Ngk. Should we go?” He gestures to the door. Aziraphale smiles and holds the door for Crowley. Following his companion through the winding booths, Crowley looks around the small cafe. His eyes narrow as he spots the man from earlier sitting in a booth with a woman. The woman smiles as she says something to her companion. The man turns and spots Aziraphale and Crowley. He smiles at Crowley.

“Angel, maybe we should go somewhere else,” Crowley murmurs. Aziraphale turns slightly, spotting the pair, and nods, his face grim.

“I suppose Gabriel was right,” he whispers to himself. “Let us go somewhere else.”

* * *

The two end up at a small restaurant near the flower shop. Aziraphale’s fingers patter nervously on the table. Seeing Michael again was slightly worrying. Her demeanor and her words had shaken him, not that he would admit it.

“Are you okay?” Crowley asks, taking Aziraphale’s hand in his. Aziraphale jumps at the sudden contact. Crowley moves to pull away but Aziraphale quickly interlocks their fingers. The weight of Crowley’s hand in his is grounding.

“Yeah, sorry. That woman, she came into my shop earlier. She wasn’t very nice. Plus, Gabriel didn’t seem to like her very much.” Aziraphale sighs. “I shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions about her so fast but there was just...something about her that made me uneasy.”

“I know how that is. We had a man, actually, the man sitting with the woman, come in today. Anathema took the order but there was something about him that seemed almost...evil. Anathema said something about an aura and I don’t believe in that shit but I do believe that there was something off about him.” Aziraphale nods in agreement.

“I get the feeling everything is going to change.”

* * *

Gabriel marches up the elevator to Heaven. The other angels press themselves against the walls as he storms through the hall, throwing the door to the Archangel’s room open.

“What the fuck!” he shouts, glaring at the other Archangels. Michael stands there calmly, knowing exactly what this is all about. Uriel looks bored but Gabriel can see the flicker of fear in her eyes. Sandalphon looks terrified to be caught on the receiving end of Gabriel’s anger.

“I thought we decided that we wouldn’t interact with Aziraphale,” he growls. Michael steps forward and opens her mouth to speak. “Besides me. You’re going to ruin everything. We can’t have anything going wrong.”

“You are just scared that he will find out who you are, Gabriel,” Michael says. “You’re scared he will find out you love him. Are you ready to fall for him, Gabriel?” Gabriel flinches.  
“I don’t love him.” Michael smirks, stepping back.

“Gabriel,” Uriel starts, “we have reason to believe that Hell has made contact with the demon. Our plan is being put into motion.” Gabriel nods, trying to control himself. The end of the world seemed like a good idea 6000 years ago but now it seems like a terrible idea.

“No more contact with Aziraphale,” he growls before storming out of the room again. He enters a new room and collapses to his knees. “Mother, please, what is your plan? Everything is going wrong and they want to kill him. You can’t possibly want that to happen, do you? You wouldn’t have made him human if you did.”

No response.  
“Please, answer me.”

Still no response.

Gabriel lets out an anguished scream into the empty room.

“Are you really going to do this to us, Mother? Are you really going to do this to them? It hurts to see them love each other but it hurts, even more, to see you so ready to kill them.” Gabriel’s next words are quiet and painful. “Am I wrong?”

A soft, sweet word drifts across his mind, carrying with it the pain of a billion lives lost and a billion lives loved. _No,_ She says and that’s all She says but it carries the weight of a thousand words.

She loves her children yet She must let them do their own thing. She only hopes that they can be brought to their senses in time.

Before everything is lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! <3


	6. Car Crashes and Fires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt gets into a car crash and Aziraphale reads the book of prophecies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *saunters forward waving awkwardly* Hi guys, sorry I'm late. So, because of my amazing procrastinating skills, instead of staying up late working on this chapter, I stayed up late working on math homework. one of these days I will update on time(i wouldn't hold your breath, though).

“Sergent Shadwell, sir,” Newt says as the door swings shut. A stack of papers makes its way down the steps, grumbling as it goes. Newt wishes he was still talking to Anathema but her boss had kicked him out after claiming that he was distracting her.

“Aye, what is it you be wanting?” Shadwell asks, setting the newspapers on the table. He seems to possess a neverending amount of newspapers.

“You told me to keep an eye out for witches and phenomena. I believe I found one. It’s in a small town in Oxfordshire.” Newt holds out a clipping from a newspaper to Shadwell, hoping the old witchfinder will let him go and get away from newspapers.

Well, if his mum makes him quit the witchfinder army, then he will be done with newspapers. Newt vows to never look at another newspaper as soon as his witch finding days are over.

“Aye, what kind o’ phenomena? Is there witchcraft involved?” Shadwell looks at Newt, his interest piqued. 

“There’s been perfect weather every year. Snow on Christmas day. Long, hot summers. The kind of weather you dreamed about as a child.” The witchfinder sergeant scowls.

“I didn dream when I was a lad.” Newt gulps and finds a way to backpedal from the dark turn he accidentally took.

“Well, this weather is unnatural. I feel as if it could be something worth looking into.” Shadwell shakes his head, stumbling over to his small fridge for the can he keeps in there. “I’ll pay for my own petrol.” That catches the old man’s attention.

“Aye, if yer so keen on goin’ I won’t stop yeh.” Shadwell coughs. “Be here tomorrow, afore yeh go.”

“Why?” Newt looks at his superior in confusion.

“Fer yer armor of righteousness, laddie!” Shadwell says it as if Newt was supposed to know this. “I expect yeh ‘ere bright and early.” The sergeant nods his head, taking a long sip from his can. “Go home. Get ready for yer first mission.” 

Newt, who can’t wait to get home, doesn’t wait for Shadwell to change his mind. He leaves, nodding at Madame Tracy on his way out. Newt’s mobile buzzes as he makes his way to his car. He looks at it to see a message from his mom.

**Newt, sweetie, I’m inviting a friend’s daughter over. Maybe you two can hit it off? Xoxo Mum**

Newt groans. His mum has been trying to set him up for as long as he can remember. But, now he’s with Anathema. Maybe. They hadn’t really discussed whether they were dating or not. 

Newt switches to Anathema’s contact and, before he can change his mind, asks her to go with him. She sends back a yes almost right away.

**Sorry, Mum, but I’m bringing my girlfriend. Hope that’s okay.**

**Oh, Newt, that’s absolutely wonderful! Can’t wait to meet her. Xoxo Mum**

Newt smiles, wondering if this is the day where everything goes right.

* * *

Aziraphale sits in front of his desk, studying the book of prophecies Anathema lent him. He had a sheet of paper next to him and made notes about some of the prophecies.  
According to Agnes Nutter, the end of the world is tomorrow--well today since it’s after midnight. Aziraphale desperately hopes that prophecy is the one inaccurate one. He has many things he would like to do and things he wants to see. People he wants to meet. 

He can’t do that if it’s all gone.

Aziraphale sighs, scrubbing his face with his hand. His eyes droop with exhaustion but he wills them to stay open for just a little longer. That’s what he’s been telling himself for the last four hours. 

It’s nearing three in the morning and Aziraphale isn’t ready for the end of the world. He wants to continue reading and gather as much information as he can. Just one more prophecy…

Aziraphale’s head droops, his cheek squishing against the pages of the book. His eyes shut and his breathing evens out.

_“The world is ending, Aziraphale, are you ready for it?” a cool, female voice says. The voice is similar to the voices one might hear at the end of a medical commercial listing all the ways you could die._

_Suddenly, Aziraphale is standing in an airbase. Crowley is standing next to him, a grim look on his face. Four children stand behind them. The way he and Crowley are standing suggests that they are defending the children._

_“Are you ready for the end?” Crowley asks, holding out a hand to Aziraphale, which he takes. Aziraphale shakes his head._

_“No. I won’t let it all end here.” Aziraphale is surprised by the determination in his voice. “I have too much to live for. You and I will find a way to stop this.” Crowley opens his mouth to speak when he is violently ripped away from Aziraphale, his hand outstretched, reaching for Aziraphale._

_“Angel!” he shouts as an invisible force drags him away. Aziraphale watches in horror as Crowley is dragged backward into a large pit that opens up suddenly._

_“No, Crowley! Bring him back!” For some inexplicable reason, Aziraphale says the last part to the curly-haired boy behind him. “You have to bring him back!” Tears stream down his face as he begs anyone for Crowley to come back._

_But he’s gone._

_“I’m sorry,” the boy whispers, his eyes sad._

_“This is what happens when you try to prevent the unpreventable,” a new person sneers. Aziraphale whirls around. He sees a short but terrifying person staring at him. “You won’t ever get him back.”_

_“No...you can’t do that.”_

_“Oh, but I can and I did.” An unconcerned smirk fills their face. “I would say I’m sorry, buuuuut I’m not.”_

_“You’re a monster.” Aziraphale glares at the tiny being with all the anger and hatred he can muster(which is quite a bit for someone who used to be a being of love). The demon seems unaffected by this negative display of emotions. Instead, they grin, revealing grimy and yellow teeth._

_“Wake up Aziraphale,” they hiss. “It’s almost time for the real thing.”_

Aziraphale’s head shoots up off of his desk. His eyes dart around wildly, looking for some unknown creature lurking in the shadows. When his pounding heart begins to calm, he relaxes, settling back into his chair. He glances at the phone, itching to call Crowley.

He picks up the phone receiver, his hands shaking. He dials Crowley’s number and listens to it ring.

“Hullo,” Crowley says grumpily.

“Crowley, I am so sorry but I have something to tell you and it’s really important,” Aziraphale says in one breath.

“Whoa, angel, slow down. Tell me what’s wrong.” Crowley sounds alert, now. “Wait, no, first tell me are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m not hurt.” Aziraphale takes a deep breath. “The apocalypse, I assume that you are aware of that.” Crowley makes a noise that Aziraphale takes to mean yes. “Well, it’s going to happen, today. And I had a dream that you and I were there and they took you away!” His chest tightens as he tries to suck in enough air.

“Calm down, Aziraphale,” Crowley says. “It was just a dream. I’m right here talking to you, right?” Crowley chuckles awkwardly. Aziraphale smiles, trying to stop the tears sliding down his face. He has no reason to cry.

“Plus, the apocalypse isn’t real. You don’t have to worry about me being stolen away.”

“It’s real!” Aziraphale insists. “It’s real and it’s happening today. The world is going to end, Crowley, and there isn’t anything we can do about it.” Crowley sounds weary when he speaks again.

“It was just a nightmare, angel. Trust me, the world isn’t ending.” His voice softens. “I promise you nothing bad is going to happen.” Aziraphale stares at the emerald cover of “The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter” and wonders what he has to do to convince Crowley. 

What if he can’t convince Crowley? What if what he dreamed comes true and Aziraphale can’t stop it?

He collapses in his chair, his eyes closed. He tries to block out the pain but it doesn’t work.

“I’m sorry for calling at such an unacceptable time. I should not have let a nightmare get to me in such a way it did.” 

“It’s okay, angel. You can call me whenever you need to. I’ll be there whenever you need me.”

Aziraphale wants to say that he needs Crowley now but he doesn’t. Instead, he says, “Goodnight, Crowley.” 

“Goodnight, angel.” Aziraphale puts the receiver down and leans back in his chair, tears streaming down his face uncontrollably. The apocalypse is coming and he can’t do anything to stop it.

* * *

Newt wakes up to his alarm singing its shrill song. He rolls over with a groan, a small smile on his face as he remembers the night before. His mum had been thrilled with Anathema. She had told them that they should visit again, although an odd look had crossed Anathema’s face at that comment. 

Maybe she didn’t want to be with Newt long enough for her to meet his mum again. Newt hopes that’s not the case. He strongly likes Anathema despite the fact that she seems a little too obsessed with following the directions of that Agnes Nutter lady(who Newt thinks has a very fitting last name).

Newt smiles, starting to slowly drift off again when his alarm starts up again. He fumbles for his glasses so that he can glare properly at the alarm. The bright red letters glare back at him as he fumbles for the button to turn the stupid thing off.

Newt trips as he tries to untangle himself from his covers. He catches himself on the dresser, the dark-colored blankets pooling around his feet innocently. 

He scowls at it.

Newt quickly gets ready for the day, leaving later than he should have. Dick Turpin putters along as he drives to Shadwell’s place, wondering what he could possibly need for a quick trip to a small town where the likelihood of witches isn’t very high.

Maybe he needs more newspapers.

Madame Tracy buzzes Newt up, sounding slightly grumpy. 

Shadwell stands in front of Newt, looking proud. His eyes are shiny but that might be from something else. 

“Yer first mission. I’m ah proud of ye, laddie. Ye’ll be off fighting the forces of witchcraft. Don’t let ‘em lure ye in with their witchcraft.” Shadwell shuffles around, grabbing random items. He shoves them into Newt’s hands. “In case yeh need to exercise sum demons.” Newt wonders how a book, a bell, and a candle will help with that.

“Also, I got a call from a man, said to look for an Adam Young.” Newt nods.

Shadwell stands as tall as he can(which isn’t very tall) and salutes. “Good luck, Witchfinder Private Pulsifer.” Newt nods his head awkwardly, wondering if he should salute back. He decides to just leave. Madame Tracy gives him a smile and a wave as he leaves. 

“Good luck, dearie!” she calls, closing the door behind him.

The drive to Tadfield is quiet except for the bells clinking every time it moves. Newt smiles as the soft, green rolls of the countryside greets him. The smile disappears as a large, metallic spaceship type thing lands in front of his car. He stops quickly.

Three aliens get out and start towards his car.

“Hello, sir, ma’am, or whatever terminology you wish us to use in reference to you,” one of the aliens says. “Is this your planet?”

“I suppose so, “ Newt says warily, watching one of the other aliens wander over to a tree and kick at it. The small alien looks very disappointed with whatever was discovered. 

“Have you had the planet long?” the first alien asks.

“Not long, I don’t think,” Newt says, wondering what the correct answer is. “I think, as a species, we’ve had it for ‘bout half a million years.” The alien nods, glancing around. Their short companion continues the exploration of the trees while the other alien stands there stoically. The three all exchange a glance.

“Polar ice caps are below regulation for a planet of this size, I’m sorry to say,” the alien says with a disappointed look crossing their face. Newt feels slightly guilty as if he is the cause of the shrinking polar ice caps. “We’ll overlook it this time, though.”

“Oh, er, um-”

“We’ve been asked to give you a message.” Newt gulps. Is this the part where the aliens come down and kill all the humans so they can have Earth for themselves? “The message is ‘We give you a message of universal peace and cosmic harmony and suchlike’. That’s where the message ends.”

“That’s, erm, very kind of you.”

“Do you have any idea of the reasoning behind this message?” the alien asks. Newt brightens.

“It must have something to do with-”

“No, neither do we.” The alien shifts their weight from one foot to another. “Well, we best be going.” The aliens all turn back towards the spaceship.

“Thank you!” Newt calls, feeling slightly silly. He sits there and watches the spaceship for a little while before continuing on his way. When he looks in the rearview mirror, the spaceship is gone. 

Newt continues his drive, wondering if he accidentally took drugs and that’s what all of that was. He is so lost in thought that the opening in the ground and the person coming through the opening startles him. He swerves desperately in an attempt not to hurt the person. The car collides into a tree and Newt is sent flying forward.  
The last thing he sees before blacking out is four curious faces above his.

* * *

Anathema heads into her kitchen to prepare all the things she needs for His arrival. She is grabbing the painkillers and sets them in the kitchen when a knock interrupts her preparations. She hurries to the door, throwing it open to reveal the Them, a group of Tadfield kids that hung around her cottage sometimes.

“He was in a-” 

“Car crash, I know,” Anathema says, interrupting Pepper. “Come on, bring him in.” The five help the pale, barely conscious man inside the cottage. Anathema gently places on a bed, studying him. She has to support herself against the wooden door frame as she recognizes Newt. 

“Do you need any help?” Adam asks, appearing beside Anathema, startling her. She quickly composes herself.

“No, I have everything under control here. You four can go home.” Adam nods his head, gesturing for the rest of the Them to follow. “And, kids?” They pause, looking back expectantly. “Thank you.” For more than you could ever know.

“You’re welcome, Miss Anathema,” Wensleydale says. “I do hope he gets better.” Pepper and Brian voice their agreements while Adam stares at Anathema, his eyes seeming to read her soul, seeing everything that’s supposed to happen with the man in her room. A shiver goes through her as she looks away. 

“Have a nice evening, Miss Anathema,” Adam says finally. “Good luck with your man. Come along, gang.” He leads the troops out of the cottage, Brian giving one last wave before shutting the door behind him. Anathema sighs, relaxing against the counter before heading back to where Newt is. She gingerly takes off his jacket, worried about any bruises. 

A brown wallet falls out of one of the pockets. Anathema leans over and picks it up, flipping it open to find an id. She reads that his full name is Newton Pulsifer and that he is 26 years old. Nothing that she didn’t already know.

The name Pulsifer rings a bell. It takes her a moment before she realizes that Pulsifer is the last name of the man who burned Agnes.

“Where am I?” Newt asks, sitting up slowly. Anathema stares at him, a wave of anger building up inside of her for her long-dead ancestor. It quickly dies down as another fierce, but confusing, emotion fills her.

“You’re in my cottage.” She holds up a pack of matches she found. “I took your matches since your ancestors have a history of burning mine, Witchfinder Pulsifer.” A look of confusion crosses across Newt’s face.

“I’m sorry?” He eases himself against the headboard. “And the Witchfinder thing, that's just a hobby to get out of the house. Remember, I told you that. Or, at least I think I did. My head’s a bit foggy." 

“Probably the car crash.” The young woman stares at Newt, waiting for him to say something. He looks away from her dark gaze, studying the room.

"Nice place you have." She shrugs. 

"It's a rental." Newt stares at her.

"What happened?" he asks finally. He places a hand on his head. "There was an alien, said some really weird stuff. Then there was a-" He stops.

"Tibetan?" she supplies helpfully. Newt nods his head, wincing at the movement. "I had to help one back the other day. It's really quite weird."

"Weird isn't a strong enough word, I don't think. I think I’m going mad. Anyway, didn’t I crash my car? Is the car okay?" Odd priorities.

"Your car is fine. Adam, one of the village kids found you. He and his friends brought you here. You're quite lucky you don't have any injuries that are too terrible..." Anathema trails off at the paleness in her companion’s face. "Are you okay?"

"Did you say Adam? As in Adam Young?" Anathema nods her head. Newt goes even paler--if that's even possible. "He is the reason why I'm here." The young woman's mouth falls open.

"No, not Adam. He and his friends are such sweet kids. What could you possibly want with him?" A fierce wave of protectiveness washes over Anathema as she thinks of the boy who borrows her magazines and tells her about the story he wrote. He couldn't have possibly done anything wrong.

"I'm not sure. My boss told me to come here. Look for witches." Anathema snorts, gesturing to herself.

"Looks like you found one." Newt gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. Anathema forgot that he didn’t know that part. Oops.

"Are you going to murder me and use my organs for your potions?" he asks, glancing around the room, as if for a way out. The brunette laughs, her shoulders shaking.

"No, I'm not." She grins. "Unless you really piss me off." Newt gulps again, crossing his arms across his chest. "I'm kidding. Witches don't kill anyone and we sure as hell don't use human organs in potions. Witchcraft is much more sophisticated than most think." He relaxes, staring at her again.

"Oh. Well, that's good to know." Newt lifts a hand to his head to the band-aid there. "So, do I need to go to the hospital?" Anathema shakes her head.

"No. Agnes's prophecy made sure I had everything I needed." Newt looks at her like she has two heads. With a sigh, Anathema starts to explain.

"So, what you're saying is that Agnes Nutter was a witch and she could see the future?" Newt asks, wondering if he hit his head hard enough for hallucinations. Anathema, nods her head, rummaging through a box of note cards.

"Yes. She predicted a multitude of things, including the end of the world." Newt's stomach drops.

"The end of the world? Like when we all die and the world becomes a wasteland with few survivors? Like what they show at the cinemas? That end of the world?" Anathema rolls her eyes.

"No, that's in the movies. The real end of the world is going to be a war between Heaven and Hell with Earth as the battleground.” 

“And that’s better how?” Anathema rolls her eyes again.

“The fact that our Armageddon we can stop. I’ll need your help. And we will have to hope that my boss realizes that we need his dumbass to help us.” Newt really wants to ask what Anathema’s boss has to do with the end of the world but if he’s learned anything in the past hour, it’s that you won’t get a straight answer.

* * *

Aziraphale sips his hot chocolate carefully. He didn’t fall asleep after calling Crowley. Instead, he stayed up and read more prophecies. Every once in awhile, his head would start to fall back and his eyes would close but images of Crowley being torn away and flames engulfing the land around Aziraphale would always startle him awake.

He flips to a new page.

He’s already read this page, he knows that, but maybe he missed something. Maybe there’s something here that can help him. Maybe…

His eyes drop to one prophecy in particular. 

**Speaketh thy brother’s name three times, foolish principality, for he wilt defend thee from envy’s flame.**

Aziraphale has no idea what it means. The notes beside it are no help, except for one note written in a neat, green ink. _Angel who needs help from his brother when there is some sort of fire(??)._

Aziraphale, in his delirious state, lets his head droop and imagines Gabriel with angel wings. He lets out a laugh at how right it looks, to see Gabriel with angel wings. His brother with his violet eyes and smirk and…

His head hits the desk as he falls asleep.

Aziraphale doesn’t wake up until the bitter stench of smoke reaches him. He lifts his head, very disoriented. Smoke curls around him like an unwelcome blanket. Aziraphale stands up quickly and begins to make his way to the door, Anathema’s book clutched to his chest, when a loud crash startles him. A bookshelf had fallen against the door, blocking his exit. He turns around, heading for the exit in the back. He can barely see his destination through the smoke. The crackle of flames catches his attention and he mourns for all of his books. His sadness lasts for only a moment before he continues moving.

It’s getting harder to breathe, though, and Aziraphale wonders if he will make it out. Agnes’ prophecy comes to his mind again, along with the image of Gabriel with wings. 

**Speaketh thy brother’s name three times...**

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale rasps, sinking to the ground as the smoke thickens. “Gabriel.” He can barely see what’s in front of him as he slowly crawls towards the door. His limbs feel thick and unable to move as Aziraphale stops moving. “Gabriel,” he says one last time before letting the darkness take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> most of the alien part I used the book as a close reference. I'm not nearly as brilliant as Terry Pratchett or Neil Gaiman so I borrowed some of their brilliancy. also, the part with Anathema and Newt after the car crash, my apologies if it reads weird. i wrote that part before Newt and Anathema met. I didn't realize that Newt would decide to go stumbling into the flower shop 
> 
> The next chapter will be up next week(I'll try for Wednesday lol)


	7. Watch it Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel and Crowley both find out about the bookshop fire.

Gabriel paces back and forth, an unshakeable urge to go and do _something_ invading his body like a disease. He doesn’t know what to do, though. Michael and the other Archangels had agreed that Gabriel needed to back off so that’s exactly what he’s doing(although, why he is listening to them in the first place is a complete mystery). It's not like he can just go wander around Earth. Not without suspicion being raised, at least.

“Armageddon is going to happen today,” Michael says, appearing next to Gabriel with a soft pop. He stops moving so that he can glare at her, crossing his arms across his chest. "I hope you're ready."

“Do we really need Armageddon?” Gabriel asks. Michael narrows her eyes, her cold gaze flicking across his face as if looking for some sign that Gabriel is kidding. “I just mean, why are we going to destroy the world just so we can figure out which side is better? That makes no sense. We shouldn't have to destroy the Almighty's creations just to figure out which of her children is better.” 

“Only one side can remain victorious. If that means destroying those pesky humans so that we can be victorious, then so be it!” Michael hisses. “If you don’t like it, why don’t you go and join the demons? I’m sure they’d love to have you on their side. Although, who knows, they might not take you.” Gabriel shakes his head, grimacing at the idea of falling.

“You know I’m loyal to Heaven. I will always be loyal to Heaven.” Michael sneers, her cold eyes glittering. 

“Are you really? You seem more loyal to that little fallen angel of yours. You’re not going to let him take your attention from what really matters, are you?” Michael steps close to Gabriel, running her hands down his chest. “You know, I could be so much better for you than that little rat. I don’t see why you like him so much. I can give you so many things he can't." She pauses, turning around. "You know where to find me if you change your mind.” Michael quickly walks away, her clicking heels a bitter reminder of her presence even when she is out of sight.

Gabriel stands there, watching as the other Archangel walks away. He can still feel the warmth of her hand on his chest. It makes his skin crawl.

Suddenly, something tingles in the back of his head. It almost feels like he’s being drawn somewhere. The tug becomes sharper the longer he lets it go on. Gabriel focuses on the feeling before snapping his fingers, wanting to figure out what is going on. 

He opens his eyes, startled to find himself in the bookshop. Everything is on fire, though. Gabriel is pretty sure that’s not how bookshops are supposed to be. He starts walking, looking at the burning bookshelves and books. The flames wouldn’t dare go near him, though, so he is free to walk where he pleases. Gabriel wishes he could do the same thing to Aziraphale's books.

Speaking of Aziraphale, where is he? Did he make it out of the fire on time? 

Gabriel walks quicker, determined to find some sign that Aziraphale made it out of the fire. He makes it to the back of the bookshop and sees a small figure curled up on the floor. He walks closer to the shape and realizes that it’s Aziraphale. 

Gabriel sends out a small wave of angelic power to make sure that he is still breathing. When he finds that Aziraphale is still alive, he quickly scoops up the unconscious man and hurries to the back of the shop where the exit is. 

Once they are outside, Gabriel summons his wings and takes flight. He needs to get Aziraphale to a place where he can help him. Those human doctors won’t be able to save him in time, but Gabriel can.

He will save him.

Gabriel flies above the ruined remains of the bookshop Aziraphale tightly in his arms. Aziraphale’s arm around the green book loosens and Gabriel watches as the book plummets to the ground, landing in the mud. 

It’s emerald color, dulled by mud and soot, seems to watch the two as Gabriel flies away. Gabriel thinks he hears a faint ticking noise but blames it on the city noises that are being left behind.

* * *

Crowley groans as he finally gets out of bed. Sunlight streams through his kitchen window as he makes a cup of coffee. It’s past noon, which is normal on days that the shop isn’t open. Crowley is a big fan of sleep so he prefers to sleep as much as possible.

He looks at his mobile to see a call from a random number and a couple of frantic texts from Anathema. He clicks on those and reads them, dropping his mobile onto the counter in shock as he reaches the last one.

 _The bookshop is burning down_ , it reads. 

Those five words fill Crowley with an emotion that is sharp and fierce and terrible all at the same time. He can't move as the words revolve around his head, repeating themselves over and over. He finally kicks into motion and races to his bedroom.

“No, no, no,” Crowley whispers, horror filling him as he quickly throws on his clothes, not caring if they match or if they are clean, and races out the door. He throws the Bentley into reverse and speeds down the road, hurrying towards Aziraphale’s bookshop at a pace much faster than legal.

Crowley growls in frustration as the traffic piles up to the point where he considers walking. It crawls slowly in the direction he wants. By the time he is only a couple of minutes away, a cloud of smoke can be seen floating up and away. The harsh feeling returns as he watches the smoke climb higher and higher.

Finally, he makes it to the bookshop--or what remains of it.

Firefighters crowd around the building, shouting and waving their arms. Large hoses are unwound and directed in the direction of the burning building. The sprays of water don’t appear to help as the angry flames climb higher and higher.

Crowley jumps out of his car and runs towards the building, looking for the familiar cloud of blond hair. Panic fills him as he doesn’t see Aziraphale anywhere amongst the slowly growing crowd of people.

“Excuse me, sir,” a fireman calls as Crowley gets closer to the building. He can feel the heat of the flames but he doesn’t notice them in his dull state of terror. “Sir, are you the owner of the bookshop?”

“Do I look like I’d own a bookshop?” Crowley snaps, glowering at the man. He knows that he looks like he just escaped from a psychiatric hospital but he can't really give a damned when the one person he needs is nowhere to be found.

“I wouldn’t know sir. Anyway, we found this book near the shop. Maybe you can give it to the owner for me? I’m really pressed on time and I would like to get home to my wife and children before-” Crowley snatches the book from the man, pressing the cover into his thigh.

“I’ll take it,” he snarls. He doesn't stop his sunglasses as they slide down his face, revealing his wide, feral snake eyes. The fireman gulps, nods, and turns away. Crowley feels something wet run down his face but that could easily be the rain that’s begun to fall on the curious spectators. He wipes whatever it is away and looks at the soggy book the fireman gave him.

Between the flames and the mud, the title is almost entirely indiscernible. Crowley flips to a random page and begins to read, hoping to find some idea of what to do. He wonders if this has anything to do with Aziraphale's frantic phone call where he said that the Apocalypse is starting. 

One of the prophecies stands out to him:

**At which hour the flame of the angels steals the one who is't holds thy heart, thee wilt believeth, serpent of flowers, for thee shalt meeteth the Beast in Tadfield and holp him cease the end of times.**

That doesn’t help Crowley at all. Well, fuck.

He looks to the notes written beside it. To his surprise, his name is written there in what looks similar to the handwriting he sees on the orders Anathema takes. The words are written in blue ink and are squished amongst other thoughts and opinions of others who have held this book.

_Something to do with Crowley--could be the serpent of flowers._

Crowley pulls out his mobile and dials Anathema’s number, wondering what she means in her notes. He listens as the line attempts to connect before her voice comes across, loud and clear, except not in the way Crowley wants.

“Hello, this is Anathema Device,” her voicemail starts. “I am unavailable at the moment but will get back to you. If this is Anthony J. Crowley then I have to let you know that you need to _get your ass to the Tadfield Airbase._ ” The last part is just short of a snarl.

“Have a nice day!” the voicemail finishes cheerfully. Crowley lets his arm fall from his ear, frustrated. What is going to happen in Tadfield that he needs to be there for? What if he just didn’t go…

No, Anathema wouldn’t have sounded so serious if there wasn’t something important in Tadfield. 

Crowley climbs back into the Bentley. He feels like an unshakeable weariness has invaded him, as he slowly drives towards the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i meant for this chapter to be longer, my apologies. i had a lot of fun writing it despite the fact that it's about books being burned(and my poor baby Aziraphale!) 
> 
> also, my friend came over and I made her watch Good Omens. I'm just slowly forcing everyone around me to watch Good Omens. 
> 
> I hope u liked it this chapter!


	8. Don't Be Fashionably Late for the Apocalypse

A sudden gust of wind shakes the small cottage. Newt looks at Anathema in terror as the wind snaps and grabs at their clothing. The small door is ripped of it’s hinges. 

“What do we do?” Newt asks, shoving his glasses back up his face. Anathema fumbles for her box of prophecies and pulls one out. 

"Lette the wheel of Fate turne, let harts en- join, there are othere fyres than mine; when the wind blowethe the blos- soms, reach oute one to another, for the calm cometh when Redde and Whyte and Blacke and Pale approache to Peas is Our Professioune," she reads. 

“You know, I’ve never kissed a girl,” Newt admits. Anathema looks at him, a new light glowing in her eyes as she pulls him closer.

“Well, allow me to change that,” she murmurs before their lips meet. 

“Wow,” Newt murmurs as Anathema steps into another room. The sound of a shower starting comes from the room. “Can we do that again?” 

“Agnes says we only do it once,” Anathema calls back. A warmth fills Newt’s face at the thought of the old woman sitting around her table predicting that event.

“You are joking, aren’t you?” He sits up straight as Anathema steps out of the bathroom, shaking her head. Her dark, wet hair trails down her back as she towel dries. Anathema dresses quickly and unabashedly. 

“No, I am not.” She crosses the room to where a box sits. She pulls out one of them and hands it to Newt. He reads it multiple times, hardly daring to believe the words written there. There’s no way someone who’s been long dead predicted something like that.

The worst part, Newt decides, has to be the encouraging words written beside the prophecy. 

“Your turn,” Anathema says, passing him a clean towel. “You might want to hurry though.”

“Why? Is the world ending soon?” Worry twists through Newt.

“No, I just used up most of the hot water,” Anathema admits.

Newt takes his shower(which is, admittedly, quite cold) and contemplates what his role could possibly be in all of this. He must have a role, right? Agnes wouldn’t have prophesied his arrival if some aspect of it wasn’t important. 

He dries off and gets dressed(with much more modesty than Anathema, although, I suppose when the world is about to end, modesty isn’t really much of a worry).

“How long until the world ends?” Newt asks, taking the mug Anathema hands him. He takes a hesitant sip, the bitter taste of coffee and alcohol filling his mouth. 

“About four hours,” Anathema responds, glancing at the clock over the mantle. “We have to get going soon, though.” Newt nods.

This feels like a nightmare yet there will be no waking up once it’s all over.

* * *

“Please, please be alright,” Gabriel pleads as he leans over Aziraphale. He gently cups Aziraphale’s face, trying to heal the burns decorating the unconscious man’s body. Some of them have faded but others are stubborn and won’t allow themselves to be healed. 

Any hope of Aziraphale being healed slowly fades with the beating of his heart. It’s still there but it’s not the steady beating it should be. Gabriel is half tempted to just give up but won’t. If there’s any way he can heal Aziraphale, he will do it.

One idea comes to his mind but it’s usually used as a last resort. At this point, Gabriel is willing to try anything.

“Please let this work,” he whispers as he presses the palm of his hand to Aziraphale’s chest, right over his slowly fading heart. He concentrates, blocking out everything. He can feel the flow of energy running through him. Gabriel carefully pushes some of that energy into Aziraphale. A bead of sweat trickles down his forehead as he continues to push energy into Aziraphale. 

Suddenly, the heartbeat underneath his hand stops.

* * *

Sergeant Shadwell stands in his small kitchen, drinking from a can of condensed milk. A small clink startles him. He turns around to face the large map covering one of the walls. The pin that represents Private Pulsifer lays on the floor, gleaming innocently.

The witchfinder ambles over and pushes the pin back into the map firmly. He steps back, glaring at the pin as if that will make it stay. It does stay, but only for a moment before falling to the floor again.

“Durn thing,” he grumbles, pushing it back in. He presses it for a good ten seconds, hoping that will keep it in. It seems to work until it doesn’t. 

The pin clangs to the floor again and a realization dawns upon Shadwell. 

“Witches!” he snarls. A knock on the door startles him.

“Mr. S? Are you alright?” Madame Tracy calls as if summoned. She opens the door and peers in curiously. 

“Away with yeh, Jezebel! Private Pulsifer is in harm's way and I musta go save ‘em,” he responds, grabbing his coat and the tin where he keeps his money. There isn’t enough for a trip to Tadfield though. 

“Allow me to help, Mr. S. We can travel to Tadfield and save your Mr. Pulsifer--although, he might not be in much trouble,” Madame Tracy responds(her idea of what’s going on is probably a lot closer to what’s actually happening).

Shadwell grumbles a bit but doesn’t argue. He needs to save the witchfinder Private and if that involves allowing a witch to accompany him, then he will allow it(although, he wonders what the long past witchfinders would think of him).

“Let’s go save Mr. Pulsifer!” Madame Tracy says excitedly, practically dragging Shadwell out of the complex. A little red in the face(it’s cold out, okay?) Shadwell leaves to save Newt.

* * *

“No, no, nononono,” Gabriel mumbles frantically. He leans over Aziraphale, wishing he could go back in time to when he was still alive. Gabriel is pretty sure that humans need their hearts to be beating to live. 

The one good thing is that Aziraphale’s burns are gone, I suppose. 

Gabriel places his hand on Aziraphale’s chest, wondering if he accidentally moved his hand away from the heartbeat. 

Nothing. 

Wait, Gabriel thinks to himself, as he feels a soft thump start-up, is he okay?

He peers down at Aziraphale, looking for some sign of life. There isn’t any until the battered man sits up suddenly, almost cracking his head against Gabriel’s. 

“Gabriel?” Aziraphale rasps, wincing at the sound of his voice. “What happened?” Gabriel doesn’t know how to speak. Instead, he wraps his arms around Aziraphale in a giant hug. 

“The bookshop burned down. I saved you,” Gabriel responds finally. “I almost watched you die.” Gabriel can barely get the words out as a lump forms in his throat. “Don’t do that to me again!” Aziraphale smiles grimly. 

“Well, I suppose with the end of the world coming, you might see it happen again, you being an angel and all,” he responds. Gabriel closes his eyes, making a decision that will alter his future. 

“No, we are going to stop this.” Determination fills his violet eyes. Aziraphale stares at him before smiling.

“Then we better get going. The end of the world isn’t something I want to be fashionably late for.” Aziraphale cracks a smile. 

“Then I suppose we should get going.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so my excuse for my lateness is that I was 1. making my mom's bf watch good omens and 2. baking cookies with my friend(yes that took 2 whole days...)
> 
> hope u enjoyed this chapter! I'm planning on having only a couple more.


	9. Heading to the End

Adam lays in the grass, feeling the pain of listening to a thousand voices speaking to him at once. They all say the same thing but that’s not what he wants. Adam isn’t sure what he wants anymore. He wants to change the world and make it better but he’s not sure of the cost.

“Adam?” Pepper calls. The rustle of the grass alerts the young boy to her movement. She hovers over him, her dark curls like a black cloud in the sky. The face those curls are attached to is a face that Adam’s seen so many times, yet this time seems new(and it’s not because Pepper’s face is slightly blurry).

Brian and Wensleydale’s faces appear next to Pepper’s. Their faces also seem new. There’s something about knowing you can destroy everything. Everything gets shown in a new light. 

As the worried faces come into view, Adam realizes what he has to do. 

“I’m sorry,” Adam says quietly, sitting up. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you guys and did what I did. It was stupid and I hope that you can forgive me. I’m not sure I can face what’s coming without you guys by my side.” He waits, the silence feeling like a deadly hole that sucks everything out of him.

Finally, Pepper sticks out her hand to help him up.

“Tell us how to help,” she says and that means the world to Adam.

“To start, we need our bikes,” he responds, feeling hopeful. The voices in his head seem to quiet a bit as his love for his friends threatens to overwhelm him. “Then we have a very important job to do.”

“Count us in,” Brian says grimly. Wensleydale and Pepper nod. 

“It will be dangerous,” Adam warns. 

“We are big kids, we can handle it,” Wensleydale says. Warmth surges through Adam at the determined looks on his friend's faces. 

With their help, he can do anything.

* * *

Crowley sits there as the minutes go by without any movement from the cars in front of him. A part of him doesn’t really care because he’s still back in London with Aziraphale’s burning bookshop. Pain swirls through him, originating at his heart, and Crowley doesn’t really care. 

Besides, no amount of pain or tears will bring Aziraphale back so why even bother?

Crowley rests his head on the steering wheel. He knows that tears won’t help but he can’t keep the warm liquid pooling in his eyes from falling. It’s not fair. Why do people who do nothing but good and share kindness with everyone they meet die when people who are vile, malicious people get to live?

Why do people like Aziraphale die when people like Crowley get to live?

It’s unfair. It’s so fucking unfair!

A strangled cry escapes Crowley. He doesn’t try to erase the pained sound from the air. He doesn’t try to straighten himself up and keep moving. Instead, he lets the tears escape and flow free because, fuck it, if the world is going to end then that’s fine. 

Crowley’s world is already gone anyway. 

His mobile chirps loudly, startling him. He glares at the offending item before picking it up.

“Hullo,” he says, clearing his throat.

“Crowley? Are you okay?” Anathema responds, sounding distracted. Her voice is distant when she speaks again. “Newt! We have to go!” 

“I’m fine, Anathema.” 

“No, you’re not. What’s wrong?” Anathema sounds stern. “Come on, Crowley, I know you. Tell me what’s wrong.” Crowley takes a moment to compose himself so that he doesn’t burst into tears again.

“Aziraphale, why did he have to die?” Crowley can hear the waver in his voice and he hates it. Hates that he isn’t strong enough to keep going when it gets tough. Hates that he needs to rely on others so that he can keep standing.

“So that you can stop this,” Anathema says firmly. “I truly believe that if it wasn’t important, he wouldn’t have...died.” Crowley can hear her voice break on the word and it makes him feel slightly better to know that he isn’t the only one so affected. 

“I suppose. I just wish that he had more time.” Crowley stares at the grey sky. It’s the kind of sky that no sunlight can penetrate, no matter how hard it tries.

“Hello, Crowley,” a new voice rumbles. Crowley drops the phone as he stares at the grimy man next to him. 

“H-How did you get in here?” he asks, glancing at the door locks. The doors are still locked and he would have heard a window breaking. 

The man coughs out a laugh. The laugh is wild and terrible. It’s the kind of laugh you might hear from the villain in a movie or from someone who is not altogether in the head. It sends shivers down Crowley’s spine.

“Something got messed up,” the man growls. “Now you get to pay.” 

“No,” Crowley croaks. Something deep and horrible inside of Crowley wells up and fuels every part of him with anger for this man. “I don’t know what you mean but I don’t owe you anything. Now get out of my car!”

“Oh, you owe me so much, Crowley.” The man grins. His face is pinched tight and his words are high pitched like he’s barely holding on to whatever shred of sanity he manages to retain.

“No.” Crowley’s eyes dart around for some way to escape. He could just leave the car but the man could easily follow him. Plus, he doesn’t want to leave the Bentley behind. She’s too important to Crowley.

He can’t lose someone else.

A loud crack of thunder echoes through the air before a flash of lightning splits the sky open, startling Crowley. The man stares at the sky.

“The time is nigh, Crowley.” His face twists into a horrible mockery of a smile, his lips twisted upwards like they’ve never smiled before, and his teeth--his grimy and horrible teeth--make the whole thing worse. “You must choose.”

The man is gone just as another clap of thunder rattles the world. 

Crowley shivers, tugging his jacket tighter around him, as a dangerous cold seeps into the car, stealing any sign that warmth ever existed. 

He picks up the forgotten mobile. Anathema had hung up shortly after the terrible creature dressed as a man arrived. 

Terrified and desperately wishing he would wake up and find this was all a nightmare, Crowley gently begins to weave between cars.

He’s going to make it to Tadfield, even if it’s the last thing he does.

* * *

Aziraphale wraps his arms tighter around Gabriel, squeezing his eyes shut. He knows his brother--no, not his brother--the angel wouldn’t let him fall but he’s still far too high up for anyone’s liking.

“It’s okay, Aziraphale,” Gabriel mutters, just loud enough over the haunting whistle of the wind. The sound of the angel’s wings stops for a moment and they drop slightly(along with Aziraphale’s stomach) before Gabriel’s wings begin beating at a steady pace again. 

“Is it really?” Gabriel doesn’t respond. Aziraphale opens his eyes to see violet eyes staring at him. Gabriel’s eyes are really quite a fascinating color and, the fact that it relates to his angelic nature, fascinates Aziraphale even more. 

“I’d like to believe so,” Gabriel says finally, his eyes leaving Aziraphale’s face. “I’d like to believe that She wouldn’t just leave us to our own devices but I fear that’s exactly what’s happened. Every mother has to leave her children at one point, I suppose.” 

“I don’t know. If it’s going to bring the world to ruins, I don’t believe that’s a good time to leave.” Gabriel ponders this.

“I suppose but she’s been gone for a long time. I’m not sure she even knows what’s going on anymore.” Gabriel glances up towards the sky. Aziraphale looks up as well. The sorrowful grey of the sky seems a perfect look for the day when everything ends. 

“How are we going to stop the end?” Aziraphale asks. Gabriel tenses beneath Aziraphale’s hands. 

“I have no idea,” he admits. “I was hoping for a sign or something but I haven’t received anything.” The angel scans the land below. “Hopefully something happens soon; we are almost there.” Aziraphale nods, worrying at his lip.

He spots a familiar-looking Bentley but that could easily be someone else’s car.

“I hope we find a way before it’s all over,” Aziraphale whispers. “There’s too much that’d be lost.”

“I agree,” Gabriel responds, sounding weary. “There’s too much to fight for.”

Aziraphale doesn’t reply. He thinks of Crowley and his beautiful golden eyes and crooked sense of humor. He thinks of Anathema with her intelligence and her firm beliefs. He thinks of all the friends he’s made in his life and how all of that would be gone if this goes wrong.

“We won’t lose,” he says.

* * *

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Newt mumbles. Anathema ignores him in favor of pushing branches out of her way. “How do I know that this isn’t just one nightmare?” Anathema turns to him, her frustration getting the better of her.

“Because it’s not, okay? The end of the world is coming and no matter how many times you say you can’t believe it, it’s not going to stop!” She runs her fingers through her hair, squeezing her eyes shut. Anathema shoves the wave of emotion back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. Can we just...keep going?”

“Yeah, and...I’m sorry too. I keep forgetting how this will impact others too.” Newt smiles grimly. “I’m not the only one who won’t get to see another tomorrow.” Anathema takes his hand and gives it a squeeze. 

“Let’s keep going.” She gestures down the barely visible path. Tree branches threaten to swing at them with every step and leaves keep footsteps from being silent. “We have work to do.” Newt nods and squeezes Anathema’s hand back.

“Let’s do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyyy, hope u like this chapter! I had a lot of fun writing this one bcz, for some reason, making characters suffer is one of my favorite things.


	10. Love and the Apocalypse

Madame Tracy walks silently next to the witchfinder as he mutters about witches and demons. They had made it to Tadfield just as the sun began its descent in the sky. A warm, red glow fills the horizon as the sun sinks further. 

“We gutta find ‘im,” Shadwell grumbles, stumbling along like an old drunk. If Madame Tracy wasn’t so fond of the sergeant, she would have likely left him behind long ago. As it happens, her affection for the gruff man is rooted deeply and she would have felt terrible to leave him. 

“What exactly are we looking for, dear?” she asks, clasping her hands in front of her delicately. Shadwell’s head swings up as if forgetting he had a companion with him. 

“Witches!” The shout turns quite a few heads as well as earns Madame Tracy some dirty looks. She smiles sweetly as those people, silently wishing she was a real witch and could curse them. 

“I see. Where are we going to find these witches?” Shadwell stares at her as if she’s grown a second head. 

“They’re everywhere wuman.” He continues his walking and mumbling. Madame Tracy glances towards the sky, hoping for some sign of how to proceed. Maybe it was pure luck or maybe it was fate, but she happened to glance up just as a humanoid figure flew across the sky. 

“Oh dear,” she says. “Mr. Shadwell, these witches, they don’t fly, do they?” The witchfinder glares at her, suspicion in his gaze.

“I suppose they might. “Never met a witch who could fly,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck. Madame Tracy purses her lips and guides Shadwell in the direction she saw the thing go. Something strange is going on here and she intends to find out.

* * *

Crowley slows as he realizes he has no idea where he is going. There’s no sign screaming airbase this way(but there totally should be). Instead, there are just miles of small houses and roads and little gardens where wives plant flowers and children mess those flowers up. All of this will be gone once the end happens. 

The Bentley lurches forward as Crowley slams his foot on the gas pedal. He continues to drive, ignoring the strange looks the people outside give him. 

“Excuse me, could you tell me where the airbase is?” Crowley asks a short man. The man scowls at Crowley while he attempts to wrestle the small dog he is walking into some semblance of order. 

“The airbase you said? It’s just that way. Must’ve missed the sign." The man gives Crowley extensive directions that only the most careful could remember all of(and Crowley could not be considered careful on a good day). 

“Erm, thank you,” he says once the man is done with his gesturing and speaking. “Well, have a _fantastic_ evening. Don’t think you’ll get another one like it.” The man clearly does not pick up on the bite in Crowley’s words. The dog, however, decided to growl at the strange man. 

Crowley continues driving, following the directions he was given. He shivers as a thought, no a memory, fills his mind, screaming with the agony of a thousand tormented souls. Crowley’s knuckles are paler than the snow that dusts the London streets. 

A low noise fills the air. It’s the sound of a wild animal being trapped inside a cage without any way of escaping. 

Crowley grits his teeth as the land speeds by faster. He doesn’t dare take his eyes off of the grey pavement stretching in front of him. He doesn’t have the powers that used to fuel him before the bath of holy water. 

Suddenly, everything stops. Well, the car keeps going and so does time, but the sound and the pain just stop. Almost like they were never there. But, Crowley knows he didn’t imagine it. He understands far too much now for all that pain to have been fake. 

He remembers the voice that whispered to him, right before death stole his soul, and told him of the things to come. The voice was soft and warm, like a mother’s voice.

“You have to be brave, my child,” She had whispered, her essence swirling around Crowley like a soft breeze. She smelt of lavender and ash and grass. “You have to stop the end.” Even now, he can imagine the scent swirling around him. 

Crowley speeds up. He has to make it to the end.

* * *

Red hair that once pooled down her back is now tightly wound in a braid. Red stains her face. Beauty--the kind of beauty men might have killed for--is replaced with something darker and more nightmarish as she gazes upon her companions.

A man with skin as beautiful as chocolate yet he would never allow such a thing to pass his lips. He is a man who would steal candy from a child just to hear the wails that would accompany such an act. He feeds on the hunger that rampages the world. 

Beside him is a being that moves in such a way that the more kind might describe as elegant while the honest would have said oozing. He is a being that haunts every ocean and river in some way or another, never satisfied until it is nothing but garbage. 

But, the worst one yet, resides in everything. He is real and unafraid to do his job. Unlike War, Famine, and Pollution, he will always be real, no matter what happens. 

“He is here,” the most real of the four horseman whispers in a voice so terrible yet wonderful. He sings with a thousand dead souls and flies with a thousand more living ones.   
Death stretches to his full height.

“And we must be ready to greet his arrival.”

* * *

Gabriel lands on the small stretch of pavement outside of their destination. He sets Aziraphale down and folds his wings away.

Aziraphale quickly stands and dusts himself off, his blue eyes roaming the small area in hopes of some sign that everything will be alright. He sees nothing but wires and metal that are intertwined in a wall to keep everyone out. 

“Are you sure this is the area?” he asks the angel. Gabriel straightens his grey suit, terror spreading through his violet eyes. 

“Yes, it is.” Both men turn as a man dressed in a uniform rushes towards them. His hat shakes on his head, threatening to fall off. Aziraphale watches the man warily, wondering what new obstacle will present itself.

“You two can’t be here,” the man says, waving a hand. “None of you can be here.” Aziraphale worries for the man’s sanity before spotting the couple behind him. The man looks around as if wondering how he managed to get here while the woman peers at Gabriel, a triumphant look on her face. 

“Aye, what are we uh doin’ ‘ere, Jezebel?” the man asks, his words ending with a coughing fit. The woman smiles, her painted face twisting into a look of delight and wonder as she continues to stare at Gabriel.

“I believe I have found an angel, Mr. Shadwell,” she says, stepping forward. 

“Good for you, ma’am, now can all of you please _leave this area at once!_ ” The soldier waves his gun half-heartedly at the assembled group. He lets out a groan as the rumble of a car reaches the ears of everyone there. Aziraphale watches in amazement as a black Bentley races down the road. It’s driver slams on the brakes, sending it spinning, before stopping a good distance away from the group. A swirl of smoke lifts into the air, away from the peeling paint. 

The driver’s side door swings open and a lithe figure springs out. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale gasps, happiness filling him. He squeezes Gabriel’s arm. “Oh, it’s Crowley! I can’t believe he’s here.” Realization hits him. “I can’t believe he’s _here_. I didn’t want him at the end of the world.”

“Aziraphale?” Crowley calls, clearly having spotted the man. His sunglasses slide off of his face but he doesn’t pick them up. 

Aziraphale rushes towards Crowley, tears streaming down his face. The two men embrace, wanting to hold each other one last time before the horror show begins.

“I-I thought you were dead, angel,” Crowley whispers, wiping away the tears sliding down his face. “Oh, I saw your bookshop and...and I thought you were gone. I almost lost you.” Aziraphale shakes his head, placing his hand gently on Crowley’s cheek. He wipes away the tears streaming down the other man’s face.

“Oh, Crowley, you didn’t lose me. I’m right here and I will always be right here, by your side.” Crowley nods, his mouth not working enough to convey the feelings threatening to overpower him. Instead, he presses his lips against Aziraphale’s, hoping to convey every single unspoken word with the act. 

Aziraphale wraps his arms around Crowley, never wanting to let go of him again.

“I-I know it’s probably too early but...Crowley, I love you so much,” Aziraphale whispers, his voice shaking. “And, when I thought I was…dying, all I could think about was how...I never got to tell you that.” Crowley buries his face in the cloud of curls resting on Aziraphale’s head.

“It’s okay, dove, you got to tell me now,” he whispers, silently cursing the world for dealing Aziraphale this hand. He deserved so much more than someone who once was a demon. He deserves to live and be happy for however long he lives. 

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel whispers, gently resting his hand on the man’s shoulder. The angel can feel his heart shattering in his chest but he carefully buries the pieces away. This is who Aziraphale is happy with and Gabriel can learn to live with that. 

The military man is snapped away, hopefully, to somewhere pleasant. 

“You!” Crowley snarls, jabbing his finger into Gabriel’s chest. “I should have recognized you earlier but I didn’t.” Aziraphale watches in confusion as Crowley takes a threatening step towards the angel.

“Crowley-”

“No, angel, he is the one who burned you,” Crowley growls. 

“Crowley, what are you talking about? Gabriel saved me from being burned. He helped me.” Aziraphale rests a hand gently on Crowley’s arm. “Gabriel isn’t the bad guy.” He glances at his brother, startled to see a forlorn look on the man’s face. 

“No, Aziraphale, he’s right but I don’t have time to explain it. The end of the world is starting,” Gabriel admits. “I promise I will explain it when I can.” Crowley sneers at the angel.

“No time, huh. Or are you too chicken to tell him that he used to be an angel like you?” Gabriel opens his mouth, his eyes wild as he looks at Crowley, begging him to stop. There’s no stopping him, though. This is information that’s been begging to be released and, now that it’s getting exactly that, everyone else is just along for the ride. “You murdered him in cold blood all because he fell in love with a demon. All because he fell in love with me.” Crowley’s voice shakes slightly on the last word. He keeps going, though, because his determination to get it all out overrides any other emotion. “You killed me with holy water. Said it was for the ‘greater good’.” A tear slides down Gabriel’s face. 

“A day doesn’t go by that I don’t regret that. Please, Aziraphale,” he begs, his violet eyes sparkling with tears. Aziraphale’s mouth falls open as a hurricane of emotion fills him. He doesn’t know what to feel but he knows one feeling that rises above all the others.

Anger.

“Let’s stop the end,” he says coldly. “And then, I don’t ever want to see you again, Gabriel.” The angel flinches. Heartbreak is visible on his face. He thought that watching Aziraphale fall in love with someone else was the worst thing in the world. Boy was he wrong.

This is worse than that. At least with the other scenario, Aziraphale could still be his friend, his family, but now, he’s ruined any chance of that. 

This feeling, it’s like a long cut that won’t stop bleeding. Gabriel is sure that being dumped in hellfire would feel better than this. Angels aren’t supposed to feel such emotions yet what Gabriel feels is real, maybe even amplified by his angelic nature.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to Aziraphale’s back. Madame Tracy places her hand gently on his arm.

“Oh, you poor dearie,” she says, taking his hand. Mr. Shadwell gives him a glare as he follows the two. “Come along, Mr. Angel, sir. We mustn’t waste any more time. Don’t you mind them. Your friend will forgive you eventually. Although I do believe that burning people isn't the best way to do things. Maybe just sit down for a nice cuppa and a chat. Everything will turn out just right, though, dearie. Just you see.” 

Gabriel hopes so.

The angel doesn’t notice it, too busy with his own thoughts, but Aziraphale glances back, his own emotions threatening to drown him. Suddenly, the end of the world doesn’t seem so bad as long as it erases these conflicting feelings.

Aziraphale sighs and continues moving forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my favorite chapter to write because well, 1. I felt like it was my most well-written one and 2. there's just so much emotion(or at least I thought so) in it and I thought that was fun to write. I hope you enjoyed it! I'm thinking that I will have about 2 more chapters and then it will be the end! thanks for reading!


	11. It's the End of the World as We Know it

Crowley squeezes Aziraphale’s hand in his. The feeling of relief and happiness is indescribable. Although, part of Crowley wonders if this is all a trick. If he’s really hallucinating this whole thing or he’s died and gone to Hell and this is his torture, seeing Aziraphale before something bad happens. 

Well, if this is a trick, then Crowley is going to make the most of it. 

Aziraphale squeezes Crowley’s hand back and glances at him, his blue eyes sparkling with wonder, almost as if he can’t believe Crowley’s next to him. That’s exactly how Crowley feels. He fights the tears threatening to fall. 

The two continue walking, hand in hand, until a wide, open area makes them stop. A group of kids gathers there. Power radiates from one kid in particular. It’s a power that makes Crowley shudder. 

“Hullo,” the curly-haired boy says with a small wave. “Who are you?” 

“I’m Aziraphale and this is Crowley,” Aziraphale says, smiling warmly, but there’s a hint of worry in his smile. His hands are clasped in front of his stomach as he gazes at the other children.

“Oh, hello, dearie. I’m Madame Tracy and this is Mr. Shadwell,” Madame Tracy says. “And this is, oh, dear, I don’t exactly know your name.” Crowley glowers at Gabriel who has the audacity to even look in Aziraphale’s direction. 

“I’m Gabriel,” the angel says. The usual glow that seems to shine around him is dulled, almost to the point that it’s nonexistent. Crowley feels slightly guilty that he caused this change in the angel but that guilt is quickly erased as he remembers what he did to Aziraphale and what he helped do to Crowley.

“Oh, you’re an angel!” the child says brightly. “I suppose you are here to tell me to not end the world.” Gabriel smiles slightly, his lips twisting awkwardly as if he doesn’t quite have the concept of smiling down yet.

“If I was a good angel I’d be convincing you to end the world but I’m not going to. I’m done doing what Heaven wants.” Gabriel stares right at Crowley as he says that. Crowley glares back, not ready to give up the hatred he feels for the man. It’s easier to hold tight to the anger then let it go.

“Oh, cool. I’m Adam. That’s Pepper, Brian, and Wensleydale.” Each child gives some sort of acknowledgement at their name. Pepper glares at the group while both Brian and Wensleydale stand awkwardly. “We are here to stop the Apocalypse.” Crowley thinks this child sounds far too cheerful for such a gloomy event.

“You two aren’t right,” Adam says suddenly, his piercing eyes glancing between Crowley and Aziraphale. His eyebrows furrow, filling his beautiful face with annoyance. There’s something about this child, Crowley decides, that’s beautiful yet dangerous. He wants to get closer yet fears the power that flows through Adam.

Adam’s eyes meet Crowley’s, seeming as though he can see something that no one else can see. It’s almost as though he is digging through the depths of Crowley’s soul and is pulling out information and reading every single thing that makes up Crowley.

“I can’t fix it,” the boy says, frustrated. 

“Can’t fix what, Adam?” Pepper asks, crossing her arms across her chest. “I hope you aren’t talking about the ‘Pocolypse.” Crowley didn’t realize how much anger could be contained in such a tiny creature(although, he probably should have been aware of that considering how many times his neighbor’s dog has bitten him). 

“Cor’ I can fix that,” Adam says coolly. “I just can’t fix...them.” He gestures wildly to Crowley and Aziraphale. “I can’t make them angels again.”

“I happen to take personal offense to that,” Crowley says, an obnoxious grin spreading across his face. “If you truly must know, I happen to be a demon.” Adam stares at him skeptically. 

“You don’t look like much of a demon,” Brian says, scratching his nose with a dirty finger before swiping his whole hand down his pants. 

“Yeah. Most demons I’ve heard about don’t hold hands with angels,” Wensleydale adds, pushing his glasses up his face. The boy glances away when Crowley fixes his attention on him. Crowley isn’t sure he likes being ganged up on by children who likely have no idea about the matters at hand.

Yet, as he studies each of them, each child with their defiant glares(in Pepper’s case) or nervous glances over the tops of glasses(as Wensleydale continues to do), they all seem to know far more than one would perceive. And they all seem to orbit Adam like he’s their sun and they are the planets surrounding the sun. 

Crowley decides he quite likes these children.

“Yeah, well, I try not to be like most demons,” is all Crowley offers as a response. And, from what he remembers, that’s true. That doesn’t bother Crowley like it normally would. Maybe it’s the end-of-the-world-adrenaline pumping through his veins or maybe it’s something more, but Crowley honestly doesn’t care what anyone thinks of him anymore. 

“Crowley here happens to be a wonderful person, demon or not,” Aziraphale states. “Now, could we please be doing something? I would prefer not to be just standing here like a sitting duck.”

Crowley couldn't be happier to agree.

* * *

Anathema stares at the computer screens as they flash warning after warning about the impending doom they are facing. 

"How are we going to stop it?" she groans. Her fingers itch to be doing something but she can’t. She feels so useless. 

"Maybe Agnes could help?" Newt suggests meekly. She looks at him, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. 

"How is that going to help? The cards got all messed up. It would be like searching for a needle in a haystack." She glares at the old box holding all the cards. It doesn't glare back, it can't, it's a box. But it seems to be judging her anyway. Stupid little Anathema can't even keep track of the most important book in her entire life. 

"Okay, but if Agnes predicted this then whatever card you pull out would be the one we need," Newt reasons. His logic doesn't sound half crazy but Anathema's still worried that this whole thing can't be stopped. She’s not ready to die, yet. There’s too many things she’d like to do, too many people she’d like to meet.

"Okay. Let's do it." Anathema opens the box and rummages through the cards before pulling one out. " **He is not what he seems**." She groans, closing her eyes. Anathema fights the urge to stomp her foot like a little child. "Come _on_ , Agnes, you aren't even trying." Wait. Her eyes fly open. "What does that even mean?"

"Oh, erm, well you see," Newt starts, staring pointedly at the array of computers in front of him. "I'm not actually a computer engineer. You see, I'm actually quite rubbish with computers. Whenever I try to fix them they break." Anathema chews on her lip, thinking. How could this be important?

"Fix it," she says suddenly, gesturing excitedly to the computer. 

"What? I can't."

"Yes, you can. You said they break when you fix them so... fix it." Realization fills Newt's eyes. He turns to the computer, mumbling technical words that Anathema couldn't be bothered to understand. After a moment of tapping away at the keyboard, the computer lets out a defeated noise and they all go dark. 

"We did it!" Anathema cheers. She pulls Newt in for a kiss without thinking. "Oh, I'm erm-" Newt kisses her again, a beautiful smile on his face.

"We did it."

* * *

Adam can hear the voices chanting in his head. They’re like a drum that keeps getting closer and closer but it’s already too close. He wants it all to stop but there's nothing he can do to get rid of the voices and what they want. 

_Why can't they want what I want?_ he thinks bitterly. It’s a bit like when his mum tells him to clean his room when he would much rather go hang out with his friends. Except, there’s much more hanging on the events that come next. 

The voices grow louder as four figures approach. He admires the woman in red as she walks with a confidence that Adam has only seen when someone wins a fight. A sly grin spreads across her face as she walks towards the assembled group. A dark-skinned man follows behind her with teeth that remind Adam of the vampires he would read about. Another person with messy white hair and eyes that remind Adam of snakes but without the slitted pupils. An oozing trail of black ink follows behind them. 

The last figure makes Adam shiver. 

It’s a tall figure that shadows everyone else with a darkness that seems to seep into the bones of everyone assembled. He does nothing but stand there. That is all he needs to do for he receives wary glances from everyone except for the archangel. Gabriel just shivers and avoids looking in the direction of Death.

“Hello,” purrs War, her eyes gleaming with an insatiable hunger as she gazes upon everyone gathered. Adam shuffles his feet, feeling quite unsettled by her now that she’s closer. The beauty he saw before has turned into more of a nightmarish beauty. “I see you brought some friends to our little party. How nice of you.”

“I want all of this to stop,” Adam commands. “I don’t want the world to end.” A wave of agitation washes over the horsemen. War’s fingers twitch around the hilt of her sword while Famine and Pollution both shuffle their feet, glaring at the Antichrist. He glares back at them, a hint of red glowing in his eyes.

_You can’t stop this. It has already begun_ , Death hisses. 

“It will end.” He turns to his friends, his _real_ friends. “It’s okay. They are just like nightmares, really.” Pepper stares at Adam with utter confidence that warms him. She steps forward, facing War, her curly hair blowing behind her. Adam’s never been quite religious, but now, he prays to any being he can think of that his friends make it out okay.  
War’s sword swings around and around but Pepper continues walking towards her, a change coming over her. Her shoulders stiffen and her back straightens as she stares calmly at War.

“Little girl, go back to playing with dolls,” War sneers. 

“That’s sexist,” Pepper responds, grabbing on to the sword. War’s eyes widen in surprise but she continues to look down on the young girl. Adam focuses on protecting his friend. A small pain starts up in the back of his head but he ignores it.

“Say what you believe, Pepper,” he says. Pepper shoves the sword back towards War.

“I believe in peace, bitch,” she snarls. War lets out a strangled noise before disappearing in a cloud of smoke. The sword clatters to the ground. The two sides stare at each other before Wensleydale hurries forward and picks up the sword. His hands shake as he points it towards Pollution.

“I-I believe in a clean world!” he announces, shoving it towards Pollution. The horsemen meets a similar end to War as they crumple to the ground in a cloud of smoke. Brian hurries forward, much faster this time, and points the sword towards Famine. 

“I believe in food an’ a healthy lunch,” he cries out but Famine manages to grab hold of the sword. They struggle for the sword, neither one gaining the upper hand. Dog rushes forward with a snarl, grabbing hold of the biker’s pant leg and pulling. Brian gets enough of an advantage to stab Famine, getting rid of the third horsemen.

Adam stares down the final horsemen. 

_You can not defeat me. I am everywhere_ , he whispers in a hoarse cry. Great big wings spread, enveloping the world in inky darkness before Death disappears completely, leaving behind nothing but a memory of his existence. 

“Is it over?” Aziraphale whispers, holding tightly to Crowley.

“Not yet,” is the grim reply. “Not yet.”

* * *

Gabriel stares at the place where Death disappeared. He knows it isn’t likely but he hopes anyway that it truly is the end. He doesn’t want any of these people to have to face what’s coming next. And, they will come. He can feel the anger radiating from Heaven. 

A crack of thunder rips through the air followed by a streak of lightning that hits the ground with a sound similar to the crack of a whip. It disappears, revealing a tall woman with a displeased expression on her face. For anyone who hasn’t met the Archangel Michael, she could be compared to the one mean librarian that no one likes. Unfortunately for Gabriel, he has met Michael.

A rumbling sound alerts everyone to a new arrival. The ground cracks open, revealing Lord Beelzebub. Flies swarm them as they glare at Michael with a hatred so terrible Gabriel takes a step back.

“Who are they?” Pepper whispers, her voice quivering. Gabriel looks down at the girl.

“That’s the Archangel Michael and Lord Beelzebub,” he responds. 

“Thank you for the introductions, Gabriel,” Michael sneers. “Why am I not surprised to see both of Heaven’s traitors here? Hello, Aziraphale. Was the first time being dunked in hellfire not enough for you? Another bath can be arranged, if that's what you want? Hey, maybe Gabriel can join you this time.”

Aziraphale glares at the archangel.

“Are you done?” Beelzebub hisses. “The boy needz to ztart the war!”

“Why?” Adam asks. “So you can decide who’s gang is better? ‘S not fair! You don’t need to ruin other people’s words jus’ so you can figure out who’s better. ‘n my opinion, that makes none of you better.”

“But, you could rule the world!” Beelzebub says, smiling. The smile reveals horrible looking teeth, that look like they don’t know what being clean looks like, and makes them look more horrible. “So _ztart the war!_ ”

“No,” Adam responds harshly. “I don’t want to rule the world. I already have enough to do, thinkin’ of things for Brian, Wensleydale, and Pepper to do.”

“You little brat!” Michael snarls, her face twisting in disgust and hatred. “We could give you everything you want but you refuse us.”

“I already have everything I want,” Adam replies. He gestures to his friends behind him. “I don’t need anything else. I have all of the world I need.” Michael’s face falls, for just a second, into a look of doubt. Her eyes meet Gabriel’s and the doubt morphs into rage.

“This is all your fault, isn’t it?” she hisses, her cold eyes glittering with something dangerous. “You can’t be allowed to go free. Although, killing you would be too much work. What if I got revenge a different way?” She turns to the demon beside her. “What would you say to a little revenge? Two birds with one stone, as they say?”

“What are you thinking?” Beelzebub asks. Michael whispers something into the demon’s ear. Gabriel’s stomach twists as both beings grin, their faces twin looks of sadistic excitement. He wonders who they will hurt now in their quest to be the best. 

“Let’s do it.” 

Gabriel watches in horror as Michael holds her hand up, pointing it directly at Aziraphale. A quick flick of her wrist sends a blinding flash of white traveling swiftly through the air, heading directly for Aziraphale. Gabriel doesn’t think, he just jumps, hoping he makes it in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed!


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